


Abhorsen-in-Waiting: The Philosopher's Stone

by KageKitsune13



Series: The Abhorsen-in-Waiting [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Harry Potter is not a Horcrux anymore, Necromancer Harry Potter, Necromancy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Harry Potter, Seer Luna Lovegood, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Wordcount: 50.000-100.000
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-01-17 14:42:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 88,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12367941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageKitsune13/pseuds/KageKitsune13
Summary: To most Death is the next great adventure. To those of the House of Abhorsen it is a familiar and well traveled path and in this world Harry Potter is the Abhorsen-in-Waiting.And so,  raised by his grandfather, it is a different Harry who begins his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.





	1. The Abhorsen-in-Waiting

Nearly a decade had gone by since Aster Evans woke to find his daughter’s Sending walking the riverbank that bordered his island home, but Abhorsen’s Ait had changed little over the past several centuries never mind a scant ten years. The sun that rose over the ait illuminated the same dwelling that had been there for generations. Agesander Hall as it was called was a multistoried dwelling of pale grey stone that had been constructed on the very spot where the first Abhorsen to come to the British Isles, Silvanus the Wander, had pitched his tent all those years ago.

The number of inhabitants on the island had numbered only three when Lily Potter’s Sending had come to deliver her message. However, the population had grown by one when her son, Harry Potter, had come to live there not long afterwards and it was here that he had remained ever since.

When he had first arrived, he had been a far too solemn baby marked in more ways than one by the murder of his parents, but with patience and love he’d blossomed under the care of his grandfather. In fact, before even a full year had passed Harry had begun to play again and even engage in a bit of mischief. Adding several silver hairs to his grandad’s auburn hair as he delighted in launching himself from the playpark’s swings like a trapeze aerialist; trusting that either his magic or his grandad would save him from a bad fall.

It was this aptitude for heights that had prompted Aster to begin his grandson’s training as the Abhorsen-in-Waiting a bit early – or at least the parts that ensured that Harry knew how to fall and tumble about without hurting himself.

Over the years, Harry’s training as the Abhorsen-in-Waiting had become more strenuous as he was taught unarmed combat and swordplay, music and meditation, and finally – just after his ninth birthday – he was allowed to begin to delve into the secrets of _The Book of the Dead_ under the watchful eyes of his grandfather.

In fact, that was what Harry was doing at this very moment, training in the salle that took up half of the third floor of Agesander Hall. He was working on the physical side of his training at the moment as he squared off against an opponent that had helped to hone the sword skills of the past four generations of Abhorsen.

The opponent was an enchanted wooden mannequin of average height and build that had been animated though the use of several matrixes of runic sigils etched onto every component of its body. Its featureless face was hidden behind a black veil while the rest of its body was obscured by a dark surcoat emblazoned with a pattern of silver keys. In one of its carved hands it wielded a heavy wooden cudgel with which it was attempting to bludgeon the ten, going on eleven-year-old, Harry Potter.

The bludgeon whistled though the air as the training dummy swung it and Harry watch its arc carefully so that he would know the precise moment he needed to duck his opponent’s blow. He could hear the air above his head part with a _whoosh_ as the cudgel was swung, just missing him as he dodged at the last moment. Harry knew that the wind from the sweeping bludgeon would have ruffled his jet-black hair if not for the training helmet currently encasing his skull.

“Good!” His grandad called from his place along the wall of the salle. “Remember to trust your instincts. Don’t overthink.”

The words of encouragement spurred Harry on. Because he was small and skinny for his age, some of the bigger boys at his school and even his cousin, Dudley, thought that Harry would be an easy target for them to bully. But the joke was on them. Harry had learned how to throw a proper punch by the time he was seven, developed a particularly vicious left hook by the time he was eight, and had earned himself a smattering of ropy scars across his knuckles proving so by the time he was nine.

Sure, Grandad had forbidden Harry from starting fights at school, but he’d never scolded him for finishing them. 

However, skills learned in a schoolyard scrap were of little good when facing one of the Dead. Or, in this case, a training dummy bewitched by his Great Great-Grandmother Bryony to mimic the inexhaustible strength and stamina of a freshly risen Inferius. And so, mindful of his surroundings, Harry and the enchanted mannequin circled one another. It with its cudgel and him with a gently curving blade that could have either been considered a short-sword or a long-knife. He knew he had to take particular care to watch his footing as random jumbles of blocks and other debris had been strewn across the salle floor to add another element of difficulty to the exercise.

“Keep your guard up,” Fea warned him from her perch high in the rafters. The peculiar creature of magic that served his Grandad was currently in her preferred form of a large raven with pale grey eyes.

Harry obediently raised his sword and rolled to the right as his opponent’s cudgel slammed down into the floor right where he had been standing. Harry used his forward momentum to carry himself back up onto his feet, then leapt backwards over a pile of blocks. He saw his opponent stumble as it reached them too. It’s leaden feet becoming entangled by the obstruction.

A stinging trickle of perspiration ran from his sodden sweatband and into his eyes, but Harry did his best ignored this discomfort. He was also careful to rein in the surge of pleasure he felt as his gambit to unbalance his opponent payed off. It wouldn’t do to get cocky after all. 

Nevertheless, in his mind’s eye, Harry could imagine himself a fully trained Abhorsen, doing battle with blade and bells against a Mordicant … a powerful Dead construct made of molded bog-clay and blood that he’d read about in _The Book of the Dead_. He could see it now in place of the practice dummy, standing tall and ominous with its surreal flesh and eerily glowing marsh-light eyes. Its long fingers tipped with claws made of bone shard that could easily shred human flesh.

Spurred on by his vision, and a fresh wave of adrenalin, Harry darted forward beneath his opponent’s guard. His opponent’s next swing went wide and Harry pressed his advantage. He swung his sword up at his opponent’s weapon arm with all his might, severing the practice dummy’s hand at the wrist and sending both it and the cudgel flying.

While this would have ended the fight with a living opponent, Harry knew that only complete dismemberment or decapitation could stop one of the Dead; and it would work only then if he used an enchanted blade like his grandad’s sword, Nemein. And so, even though his training saber was made of ordinary steel, he made his next move; slamming one booted foot into the side of the mannequin’s knee to send it crashing to the salle floor and lowering its veiled throat to his level. 

Harry’s next stroke was a killing blow that send the mannequin’s head flying over to join its hand and weapon. The effect was the same as if he’d used a silver-steel blade that had been burnished in dragon’s flame; the practice dummy that had been struggling to regain its footing dropped like a marionette with its strings cut. 

Harry stepped back from its still form, sheathed his sword, and braced his hands against his thighs. His lungs were trying to pull in air like bellows as he panted through the protective facemask of his helmet.

“Good, good,” Grandad praised, pushing off from the wall and approaching. “Very well done.” 

Harry’s grandad, Aster Evans, was a tall, powerfully built man in spite of having just celebrated his sixty-ninth birthday the previous winter. He had prominent, leonine features with a patrician nose. His auburn hair, which was liberally streaked with grey, was worn long and tied back in a half-tail, while his beard and mustache were close-cropped.

“Thanks,” Harry gasped, reaching up to remove his helmet. His muscles were trembling with exhaustion and his face was shining with sweat. 

“You’d better drink this and take a cool down lap,” Grandad informed him, presenting him with an un-stoppered bottled of bright green electrolyte mix.

Harry pulled a face, but took a sip anyway. No matter what they tried to mix in to improve the flavor, it always tasted like a piece fruit that had been steeped with a used gym sock to him. In this case, sweaty citrus – _yuck_!

While Harry walked the circumference of the room Grandad busied himself with repairing the battle-scarred practice dummy. With a few flicks of his wand and a murmured Mending Charm both its head and hand were reattached, though with a faint discolored seam where the pieces of its neck met. 

“Poor thing’s had to be fixed so many times it’s finally starting to break down and reject the Repairing Charm,” said Grandad as he sent the training dummy to return to its storage place by the salle wall. Next, he removed his watch from his trouser pocket, checked the time and said, “You had best head downstairs and start getting ready for school, Harry. Meanwhile, I’ll see what Pell-Mell has prepared us for breakfast.” 

And so, while Grandad – with Fea riding along on his shoulder – headed down to the ground floor, Harry removed his protective padding and returned it and his training sword to the armory across the hall. Afterwards he headed down the central staircase to the second floor then turned down the hall towards his room which lay in the southwestern corner of Agesander Hall.

It wasn’t really his room he was interested in this morning, however. Rather it was the en-suite bathroom that was attached to it.

The tile was pleasantly cool against the soles of his bare feet as he stripped out of his t-shirt and exercise trousers, then lobbed the whole sweat soaked bundle into the laundry hamper in the corner. The icy blast of water that first emerged from the showerhead was less so, but thankfully it soon matched the temperature that he’d actually selected.

For a moment, Harry just stood there beneath the pounding spray. Letting the water knock the worse of the grime from his hair and skin through water pressure alone, but soon enough he seized a flannel and his soap and had managed to coat himself from the top of his head to between his toes in a thick layer of lather.

As he rinsed, he absently watched as the sudsy slurry whisked itself down the drain like a whirlpool in miniature. Now clean he stepped out of the shower and wiped the steam from the lenses of his spectacles, then seized a fluffy bath towel and set about scrubbing himself dry.

The face that met his in the mirror was thin with an almost delicately pointed chin and high cheekbones whose appearance was only softened by the layer of baby fat skill clinging to his bones. His jet-black hair was a flyaway mess of cowlicks and curls that refused to be tamed by anything short of a full bottle of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, which was something he only bothered with on occasions when he had to look smart. Such as, school pictures or if he had to spend an extended amount of time with his relatives the Dursleys (and the less said about them the better). 

Harry wasn’t particularly vane about his looks, but if he had to pick a favorite feature it would most likely be his bright green eyes, which were the exact same shade and shape as his mother’s, his grandad’s, and all of his other ancestors who had had the potential to someday take up the mantel of Abhorsen. His least favorite feature, however, was the thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning.

In general, Harry was rather indifferent towards his scars. They were the marks of an active life. But not this one. It was a permanent physical reminder of the night his parents had been murdered by the Dark Lord Voldemort.

In his waking hours, Harry couldn’t remember the night his parents had died. He’d been little more than a year old that Hallowe’en night, after all. But occasionally in his dreams he encountered terrifying visions of deadly green spell-light and high cold laughter.

Adding his towel to the hamper, Harry returned to his room and began pulling on his uniform, which Pell-Mell had left pressed and ready on the clothes valet by his wardrobe. Boys at Midsomer Mallow Primary School wore white shirts with a green jumper, a violet colored necktie, and grey short trousers in summer – which Harry hated because they showed his knobbly knees.

Once he finished tying the laces of his boots, Harry was out the door and making his way down the stairs to the dining hall on the ground floor. 

The dining hall of Agesander Hall was a long, stately room that took up the left-hand side of the ground floor and the room was dominated by the floor to ceiling stained-glass window at the western end. The window depicted the first Abhorsen, Amarantha the Unfading, receiving the Relics of Death from the three Moira in their underworld grotto: from Aisa, she received a cloak of invisibility that would allow her to traverse the River of Death unhindered; from Clotho, she received a stone that would allow her descendants to always call upon those who had come before them for wisdom; and finally from Lachesis, she received a powerful wand that could be passed from wielder to wielder once its former master had passed beyond the Final Gate.

Like many other things around Agesander Hall, it was magical with the image it held moving as it acted out the events it portrayed much like wizarding portrait – only the window could not speak. 

The second most dominate feature of the room was the long, highly polished table of some pale wood bisected the hall. However, save for a series of candelabras along its length, the table was bared except for a trio of place settings at the far end of the table. At the place set at the head of the table sat Harry’s grandad in a high-back chair. To his left was a place set before a sturdy stand with Fea perched upon it and to his right was an empty chair waiting for Harry.

“Come on, Fledgling,” Fea called. “The food will get cold if you keep lollygagging.”

Harry mentally rolled his eyes – Fea often threatened to pluck them out if he did it for real – but hurried to his seat nonetheless. 

“Master Harry isn’t to be listening to naughty birdie,” squeaked Pell-Mell in her high little voice as she emerged from the kitchen with the breakfast tray levitating in the air before her. 

Pell-Mell was the house-elf of Abhorsen’s Ait and was the reason that things ran like a well-oiled machine about the Hall. She was a small, yet powerful magical being with large protuberant amber eyes the size of tennis balls, toffee colored skin, and large bat-like ears that added several inches to her overall height. 

With a few clicks of her spindly little fingers she had the plates magicking themselves onto the table in front of their intended recipient. Plates of poached egg, sausage, grilled tomatoes and toast with elderberry jam, which had been made from the berries of the ancient elder that grew in the front garden, settling themselves in front of Harry, his grandad, and Fea.

“As always Pell-Mell it looks delicious,” Grandad complemented the elf.

“I’s glad yous being enjoying it, Sir,” she replied, flashing them a sharp toothed grin as she gave a little curtsy then turned to make her way back into the kitchen. No doubt to see how the pots and pans were coming along with washing themselves.

As they tucked into their breakfast, Harry couldn’t help feeling a surge of gratefulness that he could stomach meat again. He had gone a full year without it once his Death Sense had come online. There was just something disconcerting about sensing how long ago the animals that provided your sausages had died the moment the meat touched your lips.

“So, are you looking forward to your last day of primary school?” Grandad asked overtop his steaming teacup.

“I’m looking forward to the end of term school trip to the zoo,” he replied honestly.

~¤~¤~¤~

Half an hour later, Harry was peddling his bicycle to north of the river and the ait on his way to Midsomer Mallow Primary School. Privately he wishes he could fly his broomstick instead, but he understood his Grandad’s reasons for not allowing it. For one thing, witches and wizards are required by magical law to use a Disillusionment Charm if they are going to fly over non-magical areas during the day so that the Muggles don’t see them. To do otherwise was to break the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy and risk incurring heavy fines or even time in the wizarding prison of Azkaban depending on the severity of the infraction.

Harry had once asked his grandad why he couldn’t just cast the charm for him, but Grandad had countered with a simple, “And who would dispel it so that people could see you in class?” 

He’d replied that he wouldn’t have minded that too much, but he’d finely relented on the whole matter when his Grandad had asked him what he would do if someone took his Scarlet Falcon racing broom from the bicycle rack out front of the school and, not knowing it was magical, decided to use it like a Muggle broom and swept the floor with it.

And so, it was a perfectly normal bicycle that Harry padlocked to the school bicycle rack before he headed into the sprawling brick building that housed Midsomer Mallow Primary School. He then took the shortest route through the meandering corridors to the room his form teacher, Miss Thropp, had instructed everyone in his class to assemble so that they could be assigned to a parent chaperone for the school trip.

“Alright everybody, quiet down. Quiet down,” Miss Thropp called from the front of the room. She was a tall woman, who was more handsome than pretty, with long inky black hair and dark eyes. She waited until the worst of the ruckus had tapered off before going on to say, “I shall be dividing everyone up into four groups of five and one group of six. When you hear me call your name please get up and join your chaperone at the front of the room. I would like you to introduce yourself to them so that they’ll know what you look like and which name they’re supposed to be shouting when one of you inevitably wanders off.”

This drew a weak round of giggles from the students and rather anemic smiles from the assembled parents. 

“Now then,” Miss Thropp went on. “Group One will be with Cully Barnaby’s mother –” she gestured to Mrs. Barnaby, who was a slim woman with the same blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes as her daughter – “and the group will be made up of Cully Barnaby, of course, as well as Harry Potter…” Harry got to his feet and join the mother and daughter at the front of the room. 

“Rachael Rose.”

They were joined by the quiet big boned girl who often sat near the back of the room. 

“And Cassie and Noel Woods,” Miss Thropp finished, allowing for the Woods twins to make their way to the front of the room before she began calling out the names for Group Two. 

Harry liked Cassie well enough. She was a bit of a tomboy with her chestnut hair in a pair of messy plaits and her knees perpetually scabby with scrapes. Her brother Noel was another matter entirely.

As far as Harry was concerned the other boy was a ruddy sneak. He’d act all polite and well-mannered with grown-ups – like he was with Mrs. Barnaby, introducing himself with a cherubic smile and a “Pleased to meet you.” – then he’d just as soon as put a tack in someone’s seat or a frog in the teacher’s desk and then find a way for someone else to get in trouble for his joke.

 _Then again_ , Harry mused watching as a girl with honey-blonde hair was sorted into Group Three. _At least I’m not going to have to hang around Lynn Morris all day._

If Noel Woods was the class jokester, then Lynn Morris was the class bully. And she was just as sly about it as Noel was his pranks. She could put on a sweet smile, but it never reached her cool blue eyes, and it was best to never let her catch you alone in the coatroom if you had crossed her.

Twenty minutes later, after everyone had made one last stop by the loo, they were all loaded up on the bus that would be taking them to Chessington Zoo. For the ride Group One settled near the middle of the bus with Rachael and Cully sharing a pair of seats on the left-hand side of the aisle with the Woods twins in the row front of them. While Harry was left to share the adjacent row with Mrs. Barnaby, who was nice enough to let Harry have the window seat. 

While the bus made its way along the motorway the members of Group One began chatting about the secondary school they would be attending come September. Cully, Rachael, Cassie, and Noel would all be going Causton Comprehensive the local secondary school in the county town. 

“Do you know where you’ll be attending secondary school, Harry?” asked Mrs. Barnaby, when he didn’t say anything. She seemed like a kind and thoughtful sort of a grown-up to Harry. 

“I won’t know for sure until I get my acceptance letter this summer,” Harry admitted, “but the plan is for me to go to a private school in Scotland.”

“But that’s so far away,” Cully exclaimed across the aisle her eyes going very wide. “Won’t you get homesick?”

Harry could only shrug in response. 

Sure, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a long way away from Abhorsen’s Ait, but the benefit would out weight cost in his mind. He found it hard to make friends amongst his Muggle classmates because he was always having to omit bits and pieces of his life since they weren’t allowed to know about magic or the wizarding world.

Thankfully, the conversation turned toward everyone’s plans for the upcoming summer holidays and the rest of ride to the zoo was relatively peaceful. 

They had optimal weather for their school trip to the zoo. The sky was a forget-me-not blue with the occasional large fluffy cloud drifting along like a clump of fairy floss. The zoo was also fairly crowded for a weekday with groups of children from at least a half a dozen other schools in attendance if the different uniforms were anything to go by.

Miss Thropp passed out clipboards and a worksheet for everyone to complete as a bit of a last-minute extra credit assignment. 

“Pick one animal you encounter today and write down as many facts about it as you can,” she told them. “I would also like for you to make a small sketch of the animal as well – workers at the zoo, classmates, or your chaperone do _not_ count as animals. 

“We will all meet back up at the Zufari Restaurant near the entrance to the Trail of the Kings for lunch at noon. And finally,” she went on, eyeing everyone sharply. “while I shan’t ask you to abstain from going on any rides I shall ask that you don’t go on the Dragon Falls flume ride without a rain poncho.”

And so, with that parting remark all of the groups split up and went their own separate ways. 

Group One, with Mrs. Barnaby manning the zoo map, headed first to Penguin Bay where they spent a good half an hour watching South American Humboldt penguins swim through the water of their habitat like they were flying. Then they headed over to the children’s zoo where they were allowed to interact with African pygmy goats, chickens, Kunekune pigs, and sheep. 

The Woods twins seemed to find the children’s zoo rather boring as their parents owned their own farm, but Cully and Rachael seemed to enjoy feeding the goats some little pellets that Mrs. Barnaby bought from a dispenser. Even Harry was ready to admit that the pygmy goats were sort of cute in their own smelly sort of way – though he still thought that their sideways pupils were kind of creepy.

To make up for the Woods twins’ boredom with the farm animals, Mrs. Barnaby allow everyone to go on the Scorpion Express rollercoaster next. Harry thought that the ride was almost as fun as flying on his broomstick.

All in all, Harry found himself enjoying the school trip. The girls were nice enough company; none of them were the sort to be obsessed with make-up or pink or other frilly girly stuff that had Harry convinced that cooties were in fact a real thing no matter what his Grandad said. And even Noel hadn’t been too bad since Mrs. Barnaby had managed to pluck him off of the back of the sheep he’d been about to try and ride around the pen like miniature horse. 

At noon they met up with the rest of their classmates at the zoo restaurant for lunch and Harry chose the vegetarian option since it was best to never learn how long the meat in a fast food burger had been dead.

After lunch they walked along the Trail of the Kings where they saw a pair of Sumatran tigers, a couple of Asiatic lions, and a family of gorillas. 

 _That one looks just like my cousin, Dudley_ , Harry thought as he finished his sketch of a rather large gorilla who was scratching its head. _The only real difference is that it isn’t blond._

From the gorilla enclosure they headed to the Creepy Caves Reptile House and that was where the otherwise perfect day decided to take a turn for the _weird_.

While Mrs. Barnaby, the girls and Noel walked without a care in the world into cool dark building with its rows of lit windows, Harry lingered near the entrance feeling rather reluctant about following them. His reluctance had nothing to do with the animals housed in the exhibit, but rather with the fact that wizards weren’t supposed to do things that were obviously not normal in front of Muggles. And in Harry’s experience it was not normal for snakes to begin speaking the Queen’s English instead of hissing and making other snaky noises.

 _But maybe they won’t notice_ , Harry thought hopefully as Mrs. Barnaby and the girls cooed over a terrarium near the door that was full of brightly colored poison arrow frogs. After all, the building was quite crowded and there was no way they could know for sure that any voices they heard were from the snakes and not from one of the other zoo patrons. 

“What’s the matter Potter? Scared of a few the ickle snakies?” Noel sneered at him from the other side of the entrance way. There was an unpleasant gleam in his muddy brown eyes and Harry was sure that if he said, “yes,” that the other boy would have found a way to ensure that a snake – rubber or otherwise – would have found a way into his seat for the bus ride back to school.

Instead, Harry shot the larger boy a smile with far too many teeth to be called in anyway friendly and said breezily, “No, _are you_?”

Then, before Noel could respond, Harry hurried a long to rejoin the rest of Group One as a wave of low hissing voices began to call out to him from the lit windows along the wall. 

As Group One meandered through the reptile house, Cully and Cassie chattered with disgusted glee about the huge, venomous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons that were on display. Meanwhile, Rachael went in search of the largest snake in the building.

“It’s big enough that it could wrap itself twice around my Dad’s car and crush it,” she whispered in awe, staring at the serpent’s glistening coils.

Harry supposed that the snake was big enough that it could have crushed Rachael’s Dad’s car – but at the moment it didn’t seem to be in the mood to crush anything. In fact, judging by the faint snores Harry could hear emerging from behind the glass, it was fast asleep. 

“Do you think it would move if you tapped the glass, Mrs. Barnaby,” Rachael asked. Mrs. Barnaby looked a bit uncertain about attempting to disturb the snake, but lightly tapped the glass anyway.

The snake didn’t budge. 

“Try again, Mum,” said Cully, as she and the Woods twins joined them. Mrs. Barnaby, indulging her daughter, gave the glass a slightly firmer rap, but the snake just continued to snooze on.

“Ah, just leave it, Rachael,” huffed Cassie, dismissively. “The monitor lizard’s playing in its pool!”

“All right, the snake’s boring anyway,” declared Rachael, turning to follow her friends over to where a large monitor lizard was moving about in its enclosure.

Now alone, Harry moved in front of the window that separated him and the enormous snake from each other and looked at the animal intently. Honestly, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the snake itself had died of boredom – trapped as it was in such a small enclosure with no company except for people plastering their snotty noses against the window to its home all day long. 

Suddenly, the snake stopped snoring and yawned widely, giving Harry a good view of the line of backwards facing fangs along the roof of its large mouth. Next, it began to move and slowly lift up its head until its eyes were on a level with Harry’s. It was then, after staring Harry in the eyes for a moment, that something very unexpected happened – the snakes wide mouth curled up at the corners in what could only be described as a fanged parody of a human smile.

Harry looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching – they weren’t – and turned back to the snake and smiled as well. 

The snake jerked its head towards Rachael Rose and the other girls, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. The look it leveled at Harry next said quite plainly: “ _I get that all the time._ ” 

“I figured,” Harry murmured to the snake through the glass. “It must be _so_ annoying.”

The snake nodded its head vigorously. 

“So where to you come from, anyway?” Harry asked curiously.

The snake jabbed its glistening brown tail at the little sign next to its window. Harry adjusted his glasses, which had begun to slide down his nose, and looked at it. It read: Boa Constrictor, Brazil.” 

“So, you were born in Brazil then,” Harry asked, turning back to the snake, “Was it nice there?”

The boa jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred in captivity. 

“Oh, I see,” said Harry. “You’re more of a _British_ Boa Constrictor, then?”

The snake had just begun to wriggle its coils in a fair mimicry of a shrug when a deafening shout from behind Harry made the both of them jump, “Cassie! Mrs. Barnaby! _Everybody_! You’ve got to come and look at this snake! You won’t _believe_ what it’s doing!”

There was a sudden rushing sound and a large group of people stampeded towards the Boa Constrictor’s window. Caught by surprise, Harry was knocked to the side and it was only long hours of training that allowed him to curl his body in a way that prevented his head from being bounced off the hard cement floor like a ball. What happened next occurred so fast that no one was able to say exactly what happened – one second, the crowd of people were leaning right up close to the glass, the next they had all leapt back with cries of horror. 

Harry craned his neck to see what had happened, then winced: the glass front of the boa constrictor’s enclosure had vanished into thin air and the enormous snake began to swiftly uncoil itself out onto the floor. Throughout the reptile house people began to scream and run for the exits.

The snake slithered quickly up to Harry and tipped its great head in a rather refined bow. 

“Thanksss, my friend,” it – no, _she_ – hissed at him, then she began to slide swiftly away with a cry of, “Brazil, here I come…!”

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock. 

“But the glass,” he kept saying, as though that would make it reappear, “where did the glass go?”

It wasn’t long before Group One and the rest of Miss Thropp’s students were bustled back onto the bus and making their way back to Midsomer Mallow. The zoo director himself had apologized to Miss Thropp and all of Group One before they’d got back on the bus and Harry had been left feeling awkward indeed when the man had suggested that the First Aid Attendant should check him over for injuries before they went. As for the rest of Group One, they could only gibber. As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn’t done anything except snap playfully at their heels as she passed, but by the time they were back on the bus, Noel was telling anyone who would listen about how the snake had nearly bitten off his leg, while Rachael was squealing that it had tried to squeeze her to death. Thankfully no one commented on the fact that Harry had been the one standing by the boa constrictor’s tank when she’d escaped.

~¤~¤~¤~ 

Once he was back at Midsomer Mallow Primary School Harry seized his bicycle from the rack in front of the building and began to make his way back home. Peddling like mad the whole way. He needed to get to the ait as fast as possible and warn his Grandad that they could probably be expecting an owl from the Ministry of Magic for a breach of the Statute of Secrecy. However, adrenaline could only carry a body so far and Harry could feel himself flagging by the time he reached the riverbank.

Slipping from the seat of the bicycle he began walking it along the riverbank until he reached the crossing point to Abhorsen’s Ait, which was marked by an ancient oak tree with a hollowed-out trunk.

It wasn’t the tree that would allow Harry to cross the river, however; but, what was stored with the oak’s hollow. And so, Harry extracted the tightly rolled up area rug he’d stuffed into the tree that morning and began rolling it out on the riverbank.

The rug was actually a rather valuable magical artifact in spite of the fact that it was regularly stuffed within the hollowed-out trunk of a tree. It was also quite beautiful as well with a hand-knotted design of a flower centered within a diamond that was surrounded by curved leaves in rich reds, yellows, and blues. 

Once the rug had been fully rolled out, Harry laid his bicycle across the front half of it, then seated himself on the center most diamond of the rug’s pattern. Once settled he said, “All right carpet: up, up, up and away!”

The magic carpet gave a small shudder, then began to rise slowly into the air. As always, Harry couldn’t help grinning whenever he had a chance to fly. After the carpet had risen a meter off of the ground Harry leaned his weight forward. The carpet gave a small shiver and began to fly smoothly across the river towards the Ait.

Sadly, the flight to the ait took only a few moments and in no time at all Harry directing the carpet to the small landing pad located on the northern side of the ait.

“Whoa carpet,” Harry called once the carpet was directly over the circular patch of white gravel that served at the carpet’s landing zone. “Down, down, down we go,” he directed the rug and it gently settled itself down on the ait’s beach.

Once on the ground, Harry wheeled his bicycle off of the magic carpet into a nearby copse of trees so that it wouldn’t be easily seen from the bank of the river, then he returned to the carpet and began rolling it back up. 

As soon as the magic carpet was rolled up Harry hoisted it up onto one of his shoulders and started off down the flagstone path to Agesander Hall – it was never a good idea to leave magical objects just laying around after all. 

When he arrived at the Hall, Harry was greeted by Pell-Mell, who helped him settled the rolled-up carpet in the broom cupboard just off to the right of the foyer. 

“Pelly do you know if Grandad’s busy?” Harry asked the house-elf, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

Judging by the piercing look Pell-Mell gave him he hadn’t succeeded.

“Abhorsen is being in his study, Master Harry,” she informed him, then she said, “He received an owl earlier.”

Harry felt his stomach drop. He’d been hoping for a chance to explain what had happened at the zoo without a Ministry of Magic letter thrown into the mix. 

He wasn’t too worried about getting into trouble because of a bit of accidental magic. After accidental magic was just that – an accident, but it was still a bit embarrassing that it was basically his fault that the school trip had had to end early. 

Harry’s grandad was indeed in his study on the second floor. A room of wall to wall bookcases filled with a wide array of grimoires from around the world and throughout history: from leather bound tomes to papyrus scrolls and everything in between.

While Fea was lounging on her stand, Grandad was seated at the dragon desk examining a letter that had no doubt been delivered by the fierce looking eagle owl perched upon one of the carved wooden dragonheads that gave the desk its name.

There was an especially grave look on the older wizard’s face when he finally set the letter aside and looked up at Harry. 

Unable to quell his curiosity Harry couldn’t help asking what the letter was about. His grandad was very tolerant of Harry’s near endless questions and rarely refused to answer. Even when he did he would generally give a reason for not doing so. 

“It’s from the Ministry of Magic in Germany,” Grandad replied. “There have been signs of a possible Mordaunt roaming about the Black Forest – animals and people in some of the remote villages found dead with no apparent cause of death. They’ve requested that I come and check things out as soon as possible.”

It was a familiar conversation between the two of them. Harry’s grandad’s duties as Abhorsen often required him to go and deal with the Dead outside of Great Britain and Harry was fairly sure he knew what was coming next. 

“I am so sorry about this, Harry,” Grandad said solemnly. “You know I had hoped we would be able to spend the whole summer together since you’ll be going off to Hogwarts in September, but the Ministry has asked that I make my way to the Black Forest as soon as possible.”

Harry found himself nodding absently. He had hoped they would have the entire summer together, too.

“Do you know how long you’ll be gone for?” he asked.

Grandad could only shake his head.

“There’s no telling,” he said. “Even by magical means travel in western Europe is still difficult. It could take me a week just to get there. Never mind how long it could take me to track whatever sort of Dead thing this is.”

Grandad shot Harry an uncomfortable look.

“You know this means you’ll have to stay with your Aunt Petunia, don’t you?”

“I figured,” said Harry, trying hard not to sound as putout by the idea as he was. Judging by the look on his grandad’s face he hadn’t succeeded.

~¤~¤~¤~ 

Harry spent his evening packing his trunk with what he would need for a summer with the Dursleys: clothes, toiletries, his training sword, and plenty of books that his magic phobic uncle hopefully wouldn’t find too offensive if he spotted him reading one.

With his trunk packed and ready at the foot of his bed Harry climbed beneath his cream-colored sheets and navy colored summer duvet. He hoped that a summer with the Dursleys wouldn’t be too bad, but he wasn’t holding his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's named schoolmates and school trip chaperone are not original characters. I'm borrowing them from the television series Midsomer Murders and the episode "Bad Tidings" in particular. If you've never watched this series I highly recommend you check it out on Netflix.
> 
> In other news, it is my hope to update this fic once every two weeks unless Real Life decides to interfere. I figure steady expectable days to look for a new chapter will be better than several chapters at once with long waits in-between. Plus I'm hoping this will save me from binge writing burnout.
> 
> Update 10/6/2018: Ignore the every two week update bit. Real Life continues to throw up road blocks, so I'm updating when I can.


	2. Return to Privet Drive

Harry was woken up early the next morning by the ringing of his alarm clock. And, even though he knew he needed to be up and dressed to the journey to his relatives’ home in Little Whinging soon, he couldn’t help laying his head back against his pillow for a moment as his mind lingered on the dream he’d been having just before he woke.

Perhaps it was the result of his brain attempting to allow him a bit of fun before he was off to the Dursleys’, but the dream had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it and if he closed his eyes he could almost hear the rumbling purr of the bike’s engine still. The dream felt familiar somehow. As though it were one he had had before.

In any case, dreams about flying – whether on his broomstick or by motorcycle – were, in his opinion, far more preferred to the occasional nightmare he had about the night his parents had been murdered.

The alarm clock, having switching itself back on from its snooze setting, was able to rouse Harry before he could fully slip to sleep. This time he switched it off properly and got out of bed. 

After fixing the covers back into place on his bed, Harry set about getting dressed for the day as he pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that he had set out the night before. Once he had laced up his boots he was out the door and making his way down to the ground floor.

Harry’s grandad was already up and waiting for him when he entered the dining hall. As always, when he saw his grandad in the uniform of the Abhorsen, Harry could not help stopping to stare at the impressive figure the older wizard cut.

Grandad was dressed in a resplendent surcoat of black acromantula silk that was emblazoned with hundreds minute keys embroidered in silver thread. Underneath the surcoat he wore a pair of dragon-hide trousers with armored segments embedded within the shins and jerkin of the same material. A battle scarred pauldron bearing a crossed pair of silver keys was buckled in place over his right shoulder while a pair of vambraces and gloves adorned both of his lower arms. Overtop of the surcoat were his bell bandoleer, which was buckled diagonally across his chest, and his sword belt at round his wait with his sword Nemein sheathed at his left hip and dagger across his lower back. Harry knew that these three items were only his grandad’s most obvious weapons.

“Pell-Mell’s prepared bacon sandwiches for breakfast and I’ve already shrunk your trunk for the journey,” Grandad informed him as he joined the older wizard at the table. “We’ll head out for Little Whinging once you’re finished eating.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed, taking a sip of his orange juice and trying valiantly to ignore Fea, who was eating her strips of streaky bacon raw.

~¤~¤~¤~

At a quarter to seven the trio exited Agesander’s Hall and made their way along the ait’s flagstone path to the east garden where the Great Elder Tree grew. At the moment the ancient tree’s branches were bowed beneath the bounty reddish hued berries that were beginning ripen.

“Fea, if you would be so kind,” Harry’s grandad asked the creature of magic perched upon his shoulder.

Without a word, Fea slid from her master’s shoulder and shed her raven-form. For a moment she hovered in the air before the elder tree as a living shadow with a corona of silver light hovering around her middle and then within an instance she had settled herself before them in the form of a thestral.

Since Fea had only assumed the form of a thestral and had not actually become one, Harry could still see her. A real thestral could only be seen by someone who had seen someone die or had gained a sufficient understanding of death. Harry had been too young to fully comprehend his parents’ deaths when he had witnessed them and he was not far enough into his readings of _The Book of the Dead_ for either scenario to apply.

As a thestral Fea appeared before them in the form of a skeletal black horse-like creature with vast bat-like wings. Her long face was vaguely draconian with curved fangs protruding from between her fleshy lips.

While Fea was fiddling with silver bit between her teeth, Harry’s grandad seized him underneath the arms and hoisted him up onto Fea’s silken back.

“Remember to tuck your knees behind her wing joints,” Grandad reminded him, then he swung himself up onto Fea’s back just behind Harry. “Now,” he went on drawing his wand from the holster along the inner forearm of his left vambrace, “only one more thing to do – _vela textura!_ ”

As his grandad cast the Disillusionment Charm, he tapped Harry on the top of the head with his wand, then himself, and finally Fea. Harry was left with the unpleasant feeling of an egg being broken over his head as the spell began to trickle down over his body from the point from which the wand had connected.

“I truly dislike that spell,” Fea grumbled beneath them as she gave a full body shudder. “It may do its job, but I feel as though I’ve been rolling about in a pond of stagnant water.”

The spell had indeed done its job Harry observed as he looked down at his body, or rather, what had been his body since it didn’t particularly look anything like his anymore. None of them were invisible, of course, since that wasn’t what a Disillusionment Charm did. Instead, the three of them had taken on the exact color and texture of the garden around them much like how an octopus camouflage itself.

“Alright,” Grandad said, seizing the reins of Fea’s silver bridle. “Off we go.”

In an instant, Fea’s great wings unfurled themselves on either side of Harry and his grandad as she coiled her legs beneath her in a decidedly unhorse-like crouch, then she launched herself up into the air with the speed of a shot fired from a cannon. 

Now airborne, Fea circled Abhorsen’s Ait once giving her riders a bird’s eye view of the slate roof and decorative chimney pots of Agesander’s Hall as well as the ait’s encircling groves of alder, ash, and willow. She then turned to soar out over the placid flow of the river. The morning sun was shining directly into their eyes as they began their eastward journey down the river towards the Dursleys’ hometown.   

The trio weren’t long into their journey before Harry found himself feeling rather grateful that his grandad had insisted that he pull on his denim jacket before they had left the Hall. Because even with the heat of the summer sun beaming down on them, Harry soon found himself feeling quite chilled by the damp wind whistling up around them as they past.

“Not too long now,” Grandad said, shouting so that he could be heard over the wind.

Harry canted his head to the side so that he could see the ground far below them. They were passing over several bodies of water that looked as though they could have been a series of lakes, but Harry knew that they were in fact a cluster of reservoirs instead since they were flying over Stanwell Moor if he wasn’t mistaken.

A short while later they were angling southward again as they soared across the River Thames again. If Harry’s mental map was correct, and he was fairly certain that it was, then they had just crossed the border from Berkshire into Surrey.

It felt like it was no more than a few wingbeats later that the winding streets of Little Whinging appeared beneath them with their rows upon rows of identical houses.

“Best start heading down, Fea!” Grandad called. “Otherwise we’ll never be able to see which house is which.”

Instead of answering Fea banked sharply to the left jostling her riders and began to circle the town in lower and lower revolutions. Meanwhile, both Harry and his grandad began scanning the streets below them for the correct back garden to land in.    

“There,” Harry cried, pointing to a house with both a small greenhouse and a large oak tree in its back garden. A sure sign that it was his relatives’ home of number four Privet Drive.  

In no time at all, Fea was headed towards the ground. Harry felt his grandad snake an arm around his middle, bracing him for the landing, then a moment later Fea touched down on the immaculately cut grass of number four’s garden as lightly as a feather.        

Harry’s grandad slid off of Fea’s back and then helped Harry down as well. The pair of them had no sooner taken a single step away from Fea before she’d launched herself back into the air and shifted back to her raven form; the Disillusionment Charm sliding from her feathers like water from a duck’s back.         

Harry and his grandad however had to have the spell removed by more conventional means with Harry’s grandad rapping each of them on top of the head with his wand and muttering the counter-spell.

“Better,” Fea muttered approvingly as she landed upon Harry’s shoulder and began preening his windblown hair back into some semblance of order.

“Glad you think so, dear-heart,” Grandad chuckled, returning his wand to the holster in his vambrace.

Harry, meanwhile, approached the backdoor of number four and knocked on it. It was opened a moment later by his aunt. 

Petunia Dursley was a tall, slender woman with her strawberry blonde hair currently cut in a style reminiscent of the Princess of Wale’s. As always, she looked rather putout to see Harry standing in her back garden.

“Well, come on then,” she hissed at them. “Get in here before the neighbors see the lot of you .”

“Of course, Tuney,” Grandad replied, seemingly oblivious to his daughter’s less than warm welcome.

Both Harry’s uncle and his cousin are at the kitchen table finishing their breakfast when he and his grandad follow Aunt Petunia into the house. Years of animosity towards his magical relations ensured that Uncle Vernon was glaring at them irritably overtop of his newspaper. Dudley, on the other hand, didn’t even bother to look up from shoveling his next bite of bubble and squeak into his gob.

“I do wish that you weren’t stopping by on such short notice, Daddy,” Aunt Petunia said as she bustled over to the table and began clearing away the dirty dishes and cutlery. “It’s our Dudley’s birthday tomorrow after all.”

“I can’t control where the International Confederation of Wizards sends me, Petunia,” Grandad chided her gently. “And it’s not as though I’ve come empty handed,” he added, producing an immaculately wrapped present seemingly out of thin air.

The sight of the shiny blue paper was actually enough of an incentive to get Dudley to abandon the last couple of bites remaining on his plate.

“What did you get me,” he demanded, making grabby hands for the parcel.

“Now hold on,” Uncle Vernon barked, setting aside his newspaper and eyeing the parcel as though he half expected it to explode. “You had better not be trying to give my son anything unnatural.”

“You do know that I have bought presents for non-magical children before don’t you,” Grandad asked him conversationally. 

Uncle Vernon harrumphed, but voiced no further protest as Grandad placed the parcel on the table.

“I can open it now, right,” Dudley demanded, seizing the present and giving it a vigorous shake as if the rattle it made might help him figure out what it was.

“Of course, Popkin,” Aunt Petunia cooed, as Dudley began tearing the blue wrapping paper to shreds. Inside was a colorfully packaged video game with _Dynablaster_ scrawled across the front of it in cartoonish letters. Accompanying it was a rather large set of batteries in clamshell packaging, as well.

“Brilliant,” Dudley crowed. “Piers doesn’t even have this game yet. He’s going to be so jealous!”

Even with Fea perched on his shoulder Harry couldn’t resisted rolling his eyes at this. Of course, that would be the only reason Dudley would want anything.

“So, will you be going somewhere special for your birthday, Dudley,” Grandad asked with interest, but Dudley didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to pry his new game cartridge from its packaging. 

“Well, we _were_ going to go to the zoo in Chessington,” said Aunt Petunia huffily. “But an animal escaped there yesterday and it still hasn’t been caught, so we have had to change our plans.”

 _Oops_ , Harry thought, remembering the escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor. 

“So, we’ll be going to the cinema instead,” she added. “We were actually trying to figure out which movie we’re going to go see when you arrived.”

“ _I_ want to see the new _Terminator_ movie, but Mum won’t let me,” Dudley whinged.

“You’re too young to see an R rated movie, Dudley,” Aunt Petunia reminded him.

“And Dad says we can’t _see Drop Dead Fred_ either,” he went on, ignoring his mother’s rebuke.

“I don’t want you seeing some rubbish about an ‘imaginary’ friend being _real_ ,” Uncle Vernon growled, casting a suspicious glance at both his father-in-law and Harry. “Not to mention it might give _someone_ dangerous ideas.”

“So, we’re left choosing between _Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves_ or _Kindergarten Cop_ ,” Aunt Petunia finished.

Grandad gave a hum of interest.

“You know, if I’m not mistaken I think the ghost of my old house at school is that of Friar Tuck,” he said wryly.

Uncle Vernon seemed to choke on nothing but air, while Aunt Petunia immediately rolled her eyes beseechingly towards the ceiling.

“ _Daddy_ ,” she sighed in exasperation.

“ _What_ ,” he asked entirely too innocently and both Harry and his cousin shared a snigger.

“Anyway,” Aunt Petunia began curtly. She seemed determined to change the topic. “I expect we should let you let you know that we will be going to Plucky Pennywhistle’s Pizza Playhouse after we finish at the cinema – we just had to make up the change to plans to Dudley, you know,” she added, “and since we’ll be out of the house all day tomorrow Vernon and I were thinking that it might be best for Harry to spend the day with Mrs. Figg.”

Any excitement Harry had begun to feel at the thought of a trip to the movies vanished immediately at this announcement. Mrs. Figg was the Dursleys preferred babysitter for both his cousin and himself whenever he had to stay on Privet Drive and neither of them could stand the daft old lady. Her whole house smelled of boiling cabbage and she delighted in making anyone who stayed in her home for more than a few moments look at photograph of all the cats she had ever owned.

“You know, Petunia, if it’s a matter of the expense of another ticket, then I’m more than happy to cover the cost for Harry,” Grandad said kindly. “I know the recession has been hard on a lot of non-magical businesses.”

Three things happened immediately after he said this: The first was Aunt Petunia puffing up in indignation – “We are quite capable of getting by without your _help_ ,” she snarled. The second was a rather greedy gleam appearing in Uncle Vernon’s beady blue eyes. After all, the man may have hated his magical in-laws, but it was obvious that this hatred of all things magical did not extend to wizarding gold as he spluttered out, “Now, Pet. Don’t be too hasty – if he wants to pay for the boy we should let him.” However, it was what happened third that seemed to decide the matter.

“I don’t _want_ him to come!” Dudley bellowed at the top of this lungs. He followed this up by pretending to breakdown into tears. Dudley knew after all that if he screwed up his face and began to wail, then his parents would give him anything he wanted.

“Oh, Diddykins, don’t cry, Mummy won’t let him spoil your special day!” Aunt Petunia cried, immediately caving to her sons wishes.

“I-It’s … not … fair!” Dudley wailed, between huge, pretend sobs. “It’s … my … birthday … and … I … don’t … want … him … t-to … spoil … it!” 

“Of course, not,” Aunt Petunia cooed, throwing her arms around her son.

 _Spoilt baby_ , Harry mentally sneered as his cousin shot him a rather nasty grin through the gap in his mother’s arms.

Grandad cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Well, that’s that, I suppose…,” he said, giving a sideways look of bemusement at his eldest grandson’s behavior. “Anyway,” he went on, now addressing Harry. “It would probably be best if we got your things up to the guest bedroom while your aunt takes care of your cousin.”

From the kitchen they headed down the hall and up the stairs. The Dursleys’ house had four bedrooms, all of which were located on the second floor. One was for Harry's aunt and uncle, one where Dudley slept, one where Dudley kept all of the toys and things that were unable to fit into his first bedroom, and one for guests.

This guestroom was Harry’s home away from home whenever he had to stay with his aunt and uncle. Unless, of course, the Dursleys were entertaining other visitors, such as Uncle Vernon’s sister, Marge. And then, he was shuffled off amongst the clutter of his cousin’s second bedroom.

Harry’s one real complaint about the room was just how _girly_ it was. The walls were a dark, dusty rose hue with a border of vines and roses along the uppermost part of the wall. The duvet on the bed had the same pattern, and so did the lace bedskirt and the pillows up against the headboard. As for the furniture it was entirely white – the bed, bedside table, dresser, bookcase, and desk and chair set – and woe be to anyone who put so much as a scuff on any of it. 

“I’ll put your trunk at the foot of the bed, alright,” said Grandad, sinking his arm up to his elbow into the magical expanded pouch on his sword belt.

The trunk he fished out of the pouch was about the size of a matchbox. He then placed it at the foot of the bed, took a step backward, drew his wand and intoned the incantation for an Engorgement Charm to return it to normal size in a flash of icy blue spell-light.

“Hey, Grandad,” Harry called seating himself on the edge of the bed. “What happens if my Hogwarts letter comes while you’re still in Germany? I mean Aunt Petunia doesn’t have an owl or anything..."

Two pair of bright green eyes met one another as Harry’s grandad answered him.

“I’ve already thought of that,” he said. “Once Fea drops me off in London I’ll be sending her back her to stay with you… She can carry your reply to Hogwarts and she’ll serve as a bit of extra security when you go to pick up your school supplies afterward.”

“D’you think you’ll be gone that long then?” Harry couldn’t help asking. The sight of his grandad presenting his cousin with a birthday present had gotten him wondering about his own birthday at the end of the next month. “What I mean,” he went on, flushing slightly in embarrassment. “Is do you think you’ll be back in time for my birthday, that is….”

“Oh, Harry,” Grandad sighed, coming to sit beside him on the horrible rosy bed and slinging his unarmored arm about Harry’s thin shoulders. “I won’t make you a promise that I have no way of knowing if I’ll be able to keep. However, I do promise that we’ll celebrate your birthday properly as soon as I’m back in the country. Alright?”

“Alright,” Harry mumbled. Not feeling quite sure if this made him feel better or not.

All too soon Harry’s grandad was giving him a hug good-bye and then he and Fea were out the door and winging their way to London.

~¤~¤~¤~

Later that evening Fea returned to number four. Soaring in through the guestroom window and electing to perch upon the top rung of the chair’s ladderback.

Harry, who had spent his day doing his best to stay out of his relatives’ way, looked up from where he’d been trying to muddle his way through _The Fellowship of the Ring_.

“You know Fea,” he said, marking his place and setting the book aside. “I managed _The Hobbit_ just fine on my own, but this is just….”

He trailed off in frustration earning him a chuckle from the raven.

“Give it time fledging. I’m not sure that cousin of yours could manage even _The Hobbit_ on his own.

“More likely he’d have no interest in it at all,” Harry informed her.

When he’d stayed in Dudley’s second bedroom on his last visit with the Dursleys the room had been packed full of things his cousin had discarded. Everything thing from a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for an air rifle, which had been cast aside after Dudley had bent up the barrel by sitting on it, to a television set with the screen all busted out from where his cousin had put his foot through it after his favorite program had been canceled. In fact, the only thing in the room that looked as though it had never been touched were the shelves of books.

“True,” Fea conceded.

“Did Grandad get off alright?” Harry asked.

Fea didn’t answer. Instead she gave a bob of her head as though she were about to be sick.

“Ugh!” Harry exclaimed, recoiling in disgust, only to freeze as a small metallic object fell from Fea’s beak and went bouncing across the floor.

“Abhorsen insisted that you have this while we’re both staying here,” Fea informed him.

“What is it?” Harry asked, climbing off of the bed and bending down to pick the thing that she had coughed up. Now that he was closer he realized that the object was in fact a small silver ring with a silvery-blue moonstone set into the band.

“Very old,” Fea replied enigmatically. “You’ll know if you need to use it. Put it on. Your grandfather usually wears it on his ring finger.”

Harry examined the ring closely, holding it between two fingers as he held in the beam of light cast by the reading lamp on the bedside table. Indeed, the ring was an exact miniature of the one his grandad wore on his right hand.

“Is it magic or something,” he asked, because the ring looked and felt quite ordinary. There were no runes or sigils on either the stone or band and it didn’t seem to be producing any sort of aura – not that Harry was any sort of expert on the matter. And so, without further ado he put it on.

The ring was quite cold as he slipped it on, then it became suddenly hot, and then suddenly it felt as if Harry were falling, falling into infinity, into a void that had no end and no beginning. Then suddenly streamers of light in colors and hues he had never seen or been able to perceive before burst into being before his eyes like fireworks. The streamers of light coiled around him in endless sigils of purpose and intent, halting his fall into nothingness and lifting him back up into his body and into a world of life and death.

“Magic… _pure_ magic,” Harry breathed, tasting the tang of ozone on his tongue as his stared at he the ring shining innocently on his finger. “But somehow _not_ , too… I don’t understand.”

“You’ll know if you need to use it,” Fea repeated dully, almost as if she were repeating some lesson she had had to learn by rote. Then, in her normal crackling contralto she added, “Don’t worry about it until then. You’ll need to keep your panpipes on you as well.”

~¤~¤~¤~ 

Any thought Harry had had about a restful summer holiday evaporated the next morning when his aunt woke him at barley half past six by hammering away on the guestroom door.   

“Up!” called Aunt Petunia, her shrill voice ringing through the door. “Get up! Now!” 

This was of course followed by another series of knocks, then Harry heard the sound of her footsteps as she walked away from the door and down the hall towards the staircase. Most likely so that she could begin banging about in the kitchen downstairs. 

“Best get up Fledgling,” Fea grumbled from her perch atop the bed’s headboard.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry grumbled, retrieving his spectacles from the bedside table and sliding them on. He couldn’t wait for the day when he was old enough to have his vision fixed for good.

He had just began shedding his pajamas when his aunt appeared outside the door again.

“Are you up yet?” she demanded.

“Nearly,” Harry called, fetching a pair of jeans from his trunk and shaking the creases out of them.

“Well, get a move on,” she snapped. “I want you in the kitchen within the next five minutes, understood? You’ll be helping me with the breakfast.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” he droned, and seemingly placated she left once again.

Not wishing to give her a reason to come back and nag him some more, Harry finished dressing quickly. He then exited the guestroom – leaving Fea to return to her dozing – and headed downstairs.

Upon entering the kitchen, the first thing Harry noticed was that the table was almost completely hidden beneath all of his cousin’s birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten everything he could have thought to ask for and a few more things he hadn’t. It wasn’t much of a gamble for Harry to guess that at least one of the parcels contained the new computer and second television Dudley had been whinging about through dinner the night before and the sleek shiny racing bike beside the table with an oversized bow attached to its handlebars more than spoke for itself.

Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley hated exercise of any sort – unless, of course, it involved punching somebody. Uncle Vernon often said that this was just Dudley being assertive. Harry, however, was of this opinion that this made his cousin a bullying git.

“Mind the bacon and try not to let it burn,” ordered Aunt Petunia. “I’m going to see if I can get Dudley up.”

Even though Pell-Mell did the cooking at Agesander’s Hall neither Harry nor his grandad were helpless in the kitchen. Pell-Mell had begun teaching Harry how to prepare simple meals around the same time he’d begun his training as Abhorsen-in-Waiting.

Harry had just begun turning the bacon over when Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen.

“Do you never comb that rat’s nest on your head?” he growled as soon as he caught sight of Harry. 

 _And it begins_ , Harry grumbled mentally. It never failed that every time he had to stay at number four his uncle had to lay into him about the fact that his hair was a perpetual mess and no amount of combing was going to change that.

He had just taken up the bacon and had begun frying a half a dozen eggs when his cousin and aunt arrived in the kitchen. Harry hadn’t thought much of it the day before, but every time he saw his cousin the other boy’s resemblance to his father had increased. Both of them were bulkily built with heads that sat almost directly atop their shoulders with hardly any neck to speak of. The only real difference between the two of them was that Uncle Vernon’s hair was the same color as black shoe polish while Dudley’s hair was the same reddish blond color as Aunt Petunia’s.

Once everything had finished cooking both Harry and his aunt set about trying to find enough room on the kitchen table to serve up the food. It was a bit difficult as there wasn’t much room left on the table at all, but with the shuffling of a few parcels they made due. While Harry and Aunt Petunia were doing this, Uncle Vernon was watching his son count his presents.

For some reason that Harry couldn’t fathom the other boy’s face fell as he finished.

“There’s only thirty-six,” said Dudley, his watery blue eyes narrowing in his bulbous face. “That’s two less than last year.”

“Yes, well some of them are quite a bit bigger than last years’,” said Uncle Vernon, gesturing to two rather large parcels that were too big to even fit on top of the table.

Dudley scowled. “I don’t care how big they are!” he shouted, going red in the face.

Harry, who could see one of his cousin’s tantrums coming on, began relocating the plates of bacon, eggs, and toast to the kitchen counter as fast as possible. He didn’t not want to deal with the mess of broken dishes and spilled food if Dudley decided to turn the table over like he had the Christmas before last.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly. “Darling, you haven’t counted your present from Aunt Marge or your father’s cousin, Laura. See, they’re under this big one from Mummy and Daddy. That’s _two_ more presents, popkin. So you have just as many presents as last year. And we’ll buy you another present while we’re out today. How’s that, sweetie?”

The high color faded from Dudley’s face as he seemed to mull this over. Finally, he said slowly, “So I’ll have thirty … er … thirty …”

“Thirty-nine, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia, the smile on her face appearing rather fixed. 

“Oh,” Dudley hummed, sitting down heavily and seizing the nearest parcel. “All right then.”

Uncle Vernon chuckled.

“Little man wants his money’s worth, just like this father. ’Atta boy, Dudley!” he said, ruffling his son’s hair. Apparently oblivious to the sharp look Aunt Petunia shot at him overtop Dudley’s blond head. 

“Help me reset the table, Harry,” she asked, then voice quiet so as to not be overheard, she added, “Good work getting the plates out of harm’s way… I rather like this set, you know.” 

They were about halfway through breakfast when the telephone began to ring. Aunt Petunia went into the hall to answer it while Harry and his uncle watched Dudley begin to work his way through his massive pile of presents. He removed the bow from the racing bike first and then unwrapped a cine-camera, a remote-control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a video recorder. He was in the middle of ripping the paper off of a ridiculously expensive looking wristwatch from his Aunt Marge when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking rather anxious.

“Now Dudley I know you wanted for your special day to be just your friend Piers and Mummy and Daddy,” she began carefully. “But that was Mrs. Figg on the telephone. She’s down at the A&E with a broken leg, so your cousin is going to have to come with us, okay?”

Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror, while Harry’s heart gave a leap of joy. He knew he ought to sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when it meant that he wouldn’t be shut up in her house with her and Tibbles, Tufty, Snowy, and however many other fur balls she had acquired since his last visit.

“What do you mean he’s coming with us?” Uncle Vernon demanded, throwing a furious look at Harry as though he had planned this. “Why can’t we phone Marge, instead?”

“After what happened last time do you really want me to answer that,” snapped Aunt Petunia.    

Last time Harry had been left alone with Marge Dursley he had ended up treed like a cat in number four’s back garden when one of Marge’s prizewinning bulldogs went after him.    

“What about Cousin Laura then?” Uncle Vernon wheedled.

“Both she and her husband are coppers they’re probably working,” she reminded him sharply.

“I could just stay here,” Harry piped in (he could practice his katas in the garden and then maybe watch a bit of television if he didn’t feel like reading afterwards).

“You are too young to be without supervision,” his aunt snapped at him. “And Fea does _not_ count!” She then rounded on her husband, “He’s coming. That’s final.”

Apparently both Dursley men knew better than to argue with Aunt Petunia when she used that tone of voice, because neither of them made so much as a peep afterwards.

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang signaling the arrival of Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, and his mother. Piers was a scrawny boy even thinner than Harry with a narrow face and large ears that made him look like a rat. Unlike Dudley, whose favorite pastime was punching people, Piers enjoyed holding people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley used them as a punching bag.

In short order, Harry, the Dursleys and Piers were all sitting in Uncle Vernon’s car and on their way to the cinema in Guildford. However, before they had left, Uncle Vernon had taken the time to pull Harry aside for some last-minute threatening.

“Now, I’m warning you, boy,” he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry’s. “Any of your usual funny business, anything at all – and you’ll be confined to that bedroom for the remainder of your stay. Do you hear me…?”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry muttered dutifully, all the while scoffing mentally.

‘Funny business’ was Uncle Vernon’s term for anything magical – whether it was intentional or accidental; not that Uncle Vernon believed that any of the magic Harry managed in front of him was ‘accidental’.

As they drove along the motorway Uncle Vernon was having a high old time complaining to Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon liked to complain about things. A few of his favorite topics were: people at work, Harry, the state of the government, Harry, the bank, and Harry…. This morning, however, he was complaining about motorcycles.

“… roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums,” he growled, as a motorcycle overtook them.

“I had a dream about a motorcycle the other night,” said Harry, remembering suddenly. “It was flying.”

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front of them as he turned right around in his seat to yell at Harry, his face like a gigantic beetroot with a mustache.

“MOTORCYCLES DON’T FLY!”

Piers sniggered, but Dudley and his mother exchanged anxious looks.

“That’s what you know,” Harry muttered mulishly under his breath. He was pretty sure that with the right applications of enchantments it would be entirely possible to make a motorcycle fly, but it would probably be against some wizarding law somewhere to do so.

At the cinema Uncle Vernon purchased tickets for _Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves_ and then the lot of them loaded up with bags of popcorn, candy, and fizzy drinks from the snack bar. Even Harry was allowed a small bag of popcorn and coke since he agreed to use his own pocket money to buy it. 

When they went to enter the theatre that their movie was showing in, Dudley and Piers rushed ahead so that they could claim a group of five seats in the exact center of the auditorium with Dudley claiming the center most. Meanwhile, Piers and Uncle Vernon sat to his right him, while Aunt Petunia and Harry sat to his left.

 _It is a pretty good movie_ , Harry thought, even if Aunt Petunia had looked ready to haul them all off to watch _Kindergarten Cop_ instead when within the first five minutes there had been a bloody dismemberment followed shortly after by a man being set on fire. However, even she seemed to have her blood up by the time Little John’s wife had volunteered to join in with fighting the sheriff’s men.

“Blasted woman should have kept the dagger and returned it to the sheriff point first,” she hissed under her breath as the sheriff began to drag Maid Marian off for the wedding ceremony. A scene which both Harry and Dudley were forced to watch through Aunt Petunia’s fingers when she clapped her hands cross their eyes.

It was in all honesty perhaps the most enjoyable time Harry had ever had with his relatives. He felt, afterward, that he should have known it was all too good to last.

After they finished up at the cinema they headed to Plucky Pennywhistle’s Pizza Playhouse. It was a clown infested hellhole in Harry’s opinion, but the food and the games were fun. While Dudley and Piers played racing games – each of them demonstrating a level of skill that left Harry praying that neither of them were ever allowed behind the wheel of a real car – Harry was busy earning tickets playing skee-ball.

He was collecting his latest ribbon of tickets when he noticed something – or rather _someone_ – that was out of place amongst the crowd of harried parents and romping children. Off to one corner was a man standing on his own. And a rather odd-looking man at that, who was wearing a violet top hat and was staring directly at Harry.

The man, when he realized that Harry had caught sight of him, waved at him merrily. His face splitting into a wide grin.

Harry returned the wave awkwardly, but felt rather relieved when his Aunt Petunia appeared beside him.

“Harry do you know that man,” she demanded, eyeing the stranger suspiciously. Harry shook his head and she seized him by the wrist and began dragging over to where Uncle Vernon was watching over Dudley and Piers.

“Vernon we’re leaving,” she informed her husband.

“What? Why?”

“Because there’s a strange man standing in the corner watching the children a little too closely,” she said, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.

Uncle Vernon spluttered for a moment, then seized both Dudley and Piers by the scruffs of their necks and helped Aunt Petunia herd the lot of them out to his car. Neither of the adults paying any attention to Dudley’s wails about his evening being cut short.


	3. Letters and the Hogwarts Representative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a week late folks, but the universe decided to knock me on my ass and kick me in the teeth while I was down so I haven't had as much time to write as I would have liked. Double inner ear infection with vertigo, followed by an exam at school, followed by getting sick again doesn't inspire me to do much more than wish I could curl up in a ball and tell the world to leave me alone for a while.

Still irate from his fun being cut short at Plucky Pennywhistle’s Dudley was unbearable in the weeks following his birthday. And to make matters worse, for Harry at least, Dudley had made sure that his cousin knew exactly who he blamed for having to leave the Pizza Playhouse early by getting his gang involved in trying to pound the point home. In addition to Piers, there was Malcolm, Dennis, and Gordon, all of whom attended St. Gorgory’s Primary School with Dudley. They were all rather large and stupid boys, but as Dudley was the largest and stupidest of the lot, he was their leader – it was social Darwinism at its finest.

And so, Dudley had taken to inviting his gang around to the house every single day for a bit of Harry Hunting, which involved the lot of them trying to corner Harry and pound on him as much as possible.

Fea, for all that she was supposed to be his bodyguard, was no help. In fact, according to her it was all good practice for facing multiple opponents.

“Yeah, but I’m allowed to kill the Dead,” Harry had informed her grumpily after a morning spend hiding from his cousin’s gang under the hydrangea in the front garden. Never mind that if he were to give his aunt and uncle’s precious Duddykins so much as a bruise there would be hell to pay. 

“Exactly what make it such good practice,” Fea croaked smugly. “It’s always more difficult to restrain and disarm without doing it literally.”

Harry received a brief reprieve towards the end of July when Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his uniform and supplies for he began at his new school in September. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon’s old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too and so he and his mother had accompanied the Dursleys to London as well. Harry, meanwhile, had been left at Mrs. Figg’s.

Oddly enough, Mrs. Figg wasn’t as bad as she usually was. Sure, her house still smelled of boiling cabbage and too many cats (soon to be even more cats if the rounded belly of Snowy was any indication), but she didn’t seem as keen to drone on about them as she usually was. Apparently, as Harry soon discovered, this was on account of the fact that she had broken her leg tripping over one of them. He had a feeling that the culprit was the large silver tabby, Fiddlesticks, given the way that the tomcat was sheepishly following his mistress from room to room.

For the duration of his stay, Harry found himself pressganged into helping Mrs. Figg around the house with a few things that she couldn’t manage while toddling about on her crutches. Mostly it was just a bit of tidying up and making sure that the upstairs rooms hadn’t gone to rack and ruin over the past couple of weeks since Mrs. Figg hadn’t been able to manage the stairs.

“They asked me at the hospital if I wanted one of those motorized chair lifts put in, but I declined,” Mrs. Figg informed him over a lunch of fish-finger sandwiches. “I didn’t see the point when I’ll be back to business as usual soon enough.”

That evening, once all of the family was back a number four, Harry had to watch his cousin parading around the living room in his brand-new uniform while Aunt Petunia took photo after photo. It was quite a sight to say the least as Smeltings’ boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, which Uncle Vernon informed Dudley were used for hitting each other while the teachers weren’t looking. Supposedly this was good training for later in life.     

The sight of Dudley in his new knickerbockers seemed to be stirring up the old pride of his alma mater in Uncle Vernon as he gruffly informed them all that seeing his son wear the old school uniform was the proudest moment in his life. Even Aunt Petunia had to set her camera aside to dab at the tears streaming from her eyes.

“I just can’t believe it’s my Ickle Dudleykins looking so handsome and grown-up,” she croaked through her handkerchief. “It’s all so sudden.”

Harry on the other hand found himself hoping that the Hogwarts uniform wouldn’t be quite so … _colorful_ ….

~¤~¤~¤~

The next morning the kitchen was filled with the pungent, fishy smell of kippers when Harry and Fea came in from the back garden for breakfast. Harry was dressed in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt with a wooden practice sword slung over his shoulder while Fea followed along behind him in the form of a large, wolfish black dog.

She had been putting him through his paces on how to defend himself against the Dead that didn’t posse a humanoid form. First by dive-bombing him as a raven to simulate how a Gore Crow might attack. Then she’d harried him as a wolf-dog; nipping him with her teeth whenever he wasn’t able to properly block her lunge with his practice sword. In the end they were both left panting and bruised, but both in far better shape than if he had been using life steel or she had been an actual Burghest with bone shard teeth intent on ripping out his throat.

“Oh, we haven’t had any fish since we got here,” said Fea, shrinking as she shifted form to that of a house-cat and licking her chops.

“That’s because neither Vernon nor Dudley particularly _like_ kippers,” Aunt Petunia remarked, plating the eggs she had just finished frying. “But once every now and again won’t kill them. Your dish is over in the corner, by the way.”

For once Fea didn’t grumble over the fact that she was being made to eat out of a bowel like a common pet as she tucked into her breakfast. A nearly unprecedented occasion since she always had something to say about Uncle Vernon’s rule banning those without opposable thumbs from eating at the table. A rule that always went out the window whenever his sister was visiting with one of her horrible dogs. 

“And you, wash up while I go and get your uncle and cousin,” Aunt Petunia barked, taking in Harry’s sweaty and dirty appearance. “And give me that,” she added, seizing the practice sword. “The last thing I need is Dudley seeing this and getting _ideas_ ,” she muttered darkly. 

Harry couldn’t blame her for wishing to keep the practice sword out of Dudley’s sight. His cousin was bad enough banging about with his Smelting sick, which he now carried everywhere, without giving the other boy a weapon with a bit more reach.

He had just finished up washing his hands and face at the sink when his relatives arrived in the kitchen. Both Dudley and Uncle Vernon had their noses wrinkled up even more piggishly than usual from the smell of the kippers.

Uncle Vernon eyed his plate dubiously, but said nothing as he picked up his newspaper and turn his attention to it instead. Dudley, however, didn’t seem as willing to let the matter go.

“Mum, why did you fix this,” he whinged, whacking his Smelting stick on the table. “Can’t you make us something else instead?”

The look Aunt Petunia fixed on her son was positively frosty. “Sorry, Sweetums, but you’ve got to eat what’s in front of you this morning,” she replied in an overly bright tone. “Besides fish is good for you. It’s brain food, you know.”

“But I don’t _want_ ‘brain food’.” Dudley grumbled, but, after another sharp look from his mother, he tucked in anyway. Apparently cottoning on to the fact that since it wasn’t his ‘special day’ he wouldn’t be getting his way.

A short while later they heard the click of the letter-box, then the flop of letters on the doormat.

“Get the post, son,” ordered Uncle Vernon from behind his newspaper.

“I’m still eating,” said Dudley through a mouthful of egg. “Make Harry get it”

“Get the post, Harry,” said Uncle Vernon, still not looking up from his paper at the same time Aunt Petunia said, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Dudley.”

“Okay,” said Harry, who had been looking for an excuse to leave the table early anyway.

There were three things on the Dursleys’ doormat when Harry went to see what the postman had delivered: a postcard from Marge Dursley showcasing the “Eight Wonders of the Isle of Wight”, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and – _a letter for Harry_.  

 _Is this it? Is it finally here_ , Harry wondered, his heart pounding like a base drum in his chest as he picked up the letter addressed to him so plainly in glittering emerald-green ink that they could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter

The Spare Bedroom

4 Privet Drive

Litte Whinging

Surrey

Furthermore, as with all wizarding correspondence, there was no stamp and the envelope was made of yellowish parchment.

As he turned the envelope over any doubt that this could be his Hogwarts letter was erased from his mind at the sight of the coat of arms that had been pressed into the purple wax that sealed the envelope: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding the letter _H_ with ‘Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus’ in minute script beneath it. 

“Oi, boy, hurry up!” Uncle Vernon shouted from the kitchen. “What are you doing? Checking for letter bombs?”

While Uncle Vernon laughed at his own joke, Harry decided it was best to follow the Hogwarts motto and not _tickle_ , or in this case _annoy_ , _the_ _sleeping_ _dragon_ and headed back into the kitchen with the post.   

Once there he handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, then sat down and began to gently pry up the wax seal so that it wouldn’t break as his opened his letter – he intended to keep this letter as a memento.

Uncle Vernon was less careful with his post. He had ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust at what he’d found inside, then cast it aside and turned his attention to the postcard from his sister.

“Marge is ill,” he informed Aunt Petunia. “Ate a funny whelk she thinks….”

“Mum! Dad!” Dudley interrupted. “Harry’s got something!”

Harry had been on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when he found himself empty handed as Uncle Vernon snatched it from his grasp.

“That’s _mine_!” Harry snarled, trying to snatch it back.

“Oh really,” Uncle Vernon sneered doubtfully, carelessly shaking the letter open with one hand. “Don’t lie to me, boy. We all know that the only post you get is brought to you by that unnatural creature of your grandfather’s and since it’s here I doubt you’ve been getting anything from him. And there’s no one else who’d write to _you_.” He was proven wrong, however, when he finally glanced down at the letter.

Harry watched with ill-concealed pleasure as his uncle’s face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn’t stop there, either. Within moments Uncle Vernon’s face was the sickly grayish white of old porridge.

“P-P-Petunia!” he gasped, aghast.

Dudley, wishing to know what all the hullabaloo was about, tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. He did, however, allow Aunt Petunia to take it when she extended her hand for the letter.

After reading the first line she rolled her eyes beseechingly towards the ceiling, refolded the letter and said, “Vernon why don’t you take Dudley into the living room while Harry and I deal with this.”

“B-But, Petunia!” cried Uncle Vernon, casting a jaundiced between the letter and Harry. “You’re just going to give it to him!”

“Yes, Dear. Now take Dudley to the living room,” she ordered.

Dudley, however, didn’t seem willing to let the matter go without a fight. He tapped his father sharply on the head with his Smelting stick and said quite loudly, “I want to read that letter!”

“No, your mother’s right, Dudley. Come with me into the living room while she deals with this,” said Uncle Vernon rubbing the place on his head where Dudley had tapped him with the Smelting stick. “And you,” he said, turning to scowl at Harry. “You’re not to show your cousin that letter. I don’t what him to be _exposed_ to anymore of your _unnaturalness_.”

Then he seized Dudley by the scruff of the neck and hauled him out of the kitchen. Slamming the door behind him as he went.

Harry could hear Dudley whacking at the walls with his Smelting stick and he pitched a fit about being denied something for probably the first time in his life.

“Here,” said Aunt Petunia, shoving the letter into his hands.

There was an odd expression on her face: part fury and another unidentifiable emotion that Harry couldn’t quite figure out. He tried for a moment, but the siren’s song of the letter was too tantalizing to resist for long and he turned his attention to it instead. It read:

 

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL**

**_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY **

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

( _Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

 _Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards_ ) 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

Minerva McGonagall,

_Deputy Headmistress_

 

A warm fluttery feeling took up residence behind Harry’s sternum at the words _you have a place_ ; it was confirmation that he really, truly was a wizard and that he would get to learn how to do magic.

But instead of saying any of this out loud, he said “I guess it’s a good thing Grandad left Fea here to play owl since they want a response by my birthday?”

“And playing owl will be all I’m doing,” Fea informed him, fluttering up from the floor and landing on the kitchen table, but Harry was ignoring her. He was busy extracting a second piece of parchment from the envelope that contained the list of supplies he’d need for the coming school year, which read:

 

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL**

**_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY**

**Uniform**

First-year students will require:

  1. Five shirts (white)
  2. Five pair of slacks (black)
  3. Three sets of plan work robes (black)
  4. Three jumpers (grey)
  5. One set of over-robes (tan) for Herbology
  6. One necktie (black)
  7. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
  8. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
  9. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
  10. One pair of shoes (black, leather or similar)



Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags

**Set Books**

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

  * _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot
  * _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ by Miranda Goshawk
  * _Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger
  * _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander
  * _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore
  * _A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch
  * _Exploring the Heavens_ by Estella Thoth
  * _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble
  * _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling



**Other Equipment**

  * 1 wand
  * 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
  * 1 set glass or crystal phials
  * 1 telescope
  * 1 set brass scales



Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

 

The fluttery feeling behind Harry’s sternum faded a bit. He was pretty sure he could buy the non-wizardry part of the uniform in Little Whinging, but there was no way any muggle shop was going to carry dragon hide gloves.

“Um – Aunt Petunia – what am I going to do about the supply list?” he asked handing the piece of parchment over to her.

She looked it over then said, “Well, your uncle wouldn’t stand for me to take you to London to buy spellbooks or a magic wand – never mind that I’m not even sure people like me can even get into the wizarding shopping district without help – so when you reply to your letter you’d best ask them to send a representative to escort you to pick up the things you’ll need.”

And so, on a piece of his aunt’s stationary, Harry wrote his reply:

 

 _Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,_

_I am writing to let you know that I am accepting my place at your school. However, at the moment I am staying with my aunt and uncle who are non-magical and I have no way to go and purchase my school supplies._

_My aunt says that Hogwarts often escorts Muggle-born students on their first trip to Diagon Alley in London and we were wondering if it would be possible for me to do the same?_

_Yours sincerely,_

Harry Potter

 

He then rolled up his letter, tied it to Fea’s scaly leg with a bit of twine, and opened the kitchen door so that she could be on her way.

~¤~¤~¤~

After Uncle Vernon left for work Dudley spent the remainder of the day hounding Harry about who on earth would be writing to him.

“It was just my acceptance letter to secondary school,” Harry finally admitted later that afternoon. “It’s not a big deal,” he added, not about to admit to his cousin just how important going to Hogwarts was to him. 

Dudley was dumbfounded by such a simple answer.

“You mean they actually have _schools_ for people like you?”

“Well they’ve got schools for people like _you_ , so I don’t see why they wouldn’t be schools for everybody else,” Harry remarked, then headed up to his room before Dudley could realize that he’d been insulted. 

~¤~¤~¤~ 

Fea didn’t turn up with a reply from Hogwarts the next day, but the morning afterwards she woke Harry up by dropping a letter from Deputy Headmistress McGonagall on his head.

“I hope you’re aware that it is over five hundred miles _one_ _way_ to Hogwarts Castle,” she informed him from her perch atop the headboard. “If I were an owl I would be demanding _so_ many treats right now.”

“D’you want me to bring you breakfast so you don’t have to eat out of the cat bowl in the kitchen?” he asked, breaking the wax seal on the envelope.

Fea cocked her feathery head to the side and stared at him ponderously with her pale grey eyes.

“It’s a start,” she conceded. “Now read your letter – _quietly_ – while I take a nap. I was up all-night flying, you know.”     

While Fea settled in for her nap, Harry unfolded his letter and read:

 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Thank you for promptly informing me about this problem._

_A representative from the school will come around to collect you from your relatives on the morning of July 31 and take you to buy your school supplies in London. Please be ready to go by no later than half past seven._

_Sincerely,_

Professor M. McGonagall

 

 _So I’ll be going to Diagon Alley on my birthday_ , he thought, wondering if a week was enough time for his relatives to prepare themselves for the idea of a wizard coming to call.

~¤~¤~¤~

The week following Harry’s announcement that a representative from Hogwarts – or his _new school_ (as Uncle Vernon had insisted any future reference to Hogwarts be made) – was tense to say the least. Uncle Vernon had been downright apoplectic when he’d learned that there would be a fully-grown wizard showing up at his home.

“What will the neighbors think seeing one of your lot turning up on our doorstep,” he had been snarling all week. “I’ve seen the sort of stuff your lot wear. This person had better have the decency to wear some _normal_ clothes!”

If he were honest, Harry had been a bit worried about this as well. Not because of what the Dursleys’ neighbors might think, but because he was worried about how rude his uncle might be to someone who worked at his new school. He did not want his uncle ruining the person from Hogwarts’s first impression of him.

He’d said as much when his aunt had allowed him to borrow her magic mirror to call his grandfather and tell him what all was going on.

“Harry it will be fine as long as _you_ behave,” Grandad informed him, his voice emerging from behind the glass of the little compact balanced on Harry’s palm. “As long as you act like the sensible young man I know you are then I’m sure they won’t notice that you have one relative acting like the worst sort of Muggle.”

“I suppose,” Harry sighed, still not completely put at ease. “By the way, how are things going in Germany,” he asked, genuinely curious, but also wishing for a distraction from his own problems.

“Not so great,” his grandad admitted, stroking his short-cropped beard. “I’m in Albanian now actually and the trail seems to have gone cold. The signs say that there is – or at least _was_ – something Dead roaming these parts, but whatever it is seems to have disappeared.”

“Does this mean you’ll be home soon,” Harry asked, a wide grin splitting across his face when his grandad nodded.

“I should be back sometime during the first week in August if I’m not delayed traveling through Yugoslavia,” Grandad informed him. “You should get a room at the Leaky Cauldron when you go to Diagon Alley,” he added. “We can meet up there when I’m back in the country.”

~¤~¤~¤~

Harry woke at five o’clock on his birthday and found himself far too excited and nervous to go back to sleep, so he decided to go ahead and get up. He took a slightly more thorough shower than usual and dressed in his best pair of jeans. He even briefly thought about attempting to tame his perpetually messy hair with a bit of Sleekeazy’s, but changed his mind. Next, he double then triple checked that all of his belongings had been repacked into his trunk, made sure he had his Hogwarts letter and supply list tucked into one of his trouser pockets and the tiny golden key to his vault at the wizarding bank Gringotts tucked into the other, and then he set about pacing round and round the guestroom while he waited for the Dursleys to get up.

Two hours later, the other inhabitants of number four finally began to stir and Harry exited the guestroom with Fea riding along on his shoulder.

Breakfast was an oddly silent affair with Uncle Vernon fuming furiously behind his newspaper – he had taken the day off from work as he wasn’t about to leave his wife and son at the mercy of some unknown freak. Aunt Petunia, meanwhile, was acting even more neurotic than usual as she spread perfectly even layers of jam across triangles of toast without eating any of them. Even Dudley seemed to have picked up on his parents’ unease as he shoveled his way through his breakfast without a complaint. 

“They will be driving, won’t they?” Uncle Vernon barked across the table breaking the uneasy silence.

“Um,” Harry began, then hesitated. The thought of _how_ the Hogwarts representative would be getting to the Dursleys’ hadn’t even crossed his mind. But now that Uncle Vernon mentioned it he doubted that they would be arriving in something as ordinary as a car.

Harry wasn’t even sure that all that many wizards had Muggle driving licenses. Not when there were so many ways of traveling by magic that were just faster. There were enchanted objects like portkeys and seven-league boots that could transport a person great distances in an instant, floo powder that allowed the user to travel from fireplace to fireplace as long as it was connected to the Floo Network, and flight, as long as the wizard was riding along on a broomstick, carpet, or beast. And then for older wizards who were of age there was Apparition, where a person just magicked themselves from placed to place why sheer concentration and magical know how alone.

“ _Maybe…_ ,” Harry hedged dubiously for no other reason than to keep the peace.

Uncle Vernon however seemed to see through his fib because gave a snort of disgust through his mustache and returned his beady eyes back to his paper.

At half past seven, Harry heavy trunk was brought down from the guestroom and placed in the hallway. While Harry busied himself attaching the little set of wheels to his trunk that allowed it to be tipped up on one edge and moved about more easily the Dursley family had cloistered themselves in the living room.

In the days since Fea had brought Professor McGonagall’s reply the living room of number four had gone from immaculate to positively sterile. The walls were still the same with their generic landscapes, one per wall, no more, no less, thank you very much. However, the mantel now only sported the formal portrait of the Dursleys flanked by silver candlesticks instead of its usual plethora photographs documenting Dudley’s childhood from nappies until now. Then there was the fan of magazines on the coffee table spread just so with issues of _The_ _Economist_ , _Country_ _Life_ , _National Geographic_ , and the like with Aunt Petunia’s favorite celebrity rags suspiciously absent.

While Aunt Petunia compulsively straightened cushions, Uncle Vernon sat in his armchair now only pretending to read his paper. From his place on the sofa Harry could see that his eyes weren’t moving and he felt fairly sure that his uncle was actually straining his ears for any sound that might indicate an approaching car. Dudley, on the other hand, had tuned everything out and was mindlessly punching buttons on his Gameboy as he played _Dynablaster_.

“They’re late,” Uncle Vernon growled at Harry the grandfather clock in the corner announced that it was now eight o’clock.

“Erm,” said Harry nervously. “Maybe they’ve been delayed somehow – caught in traffic, or something…”

“Tch – no consideration at all,” Uncle Vernon ranted. “That’s if they’re even coming. Probably mistaken the day so some such rot. I daresay _your_ _kind_ probably don’t set much store by punctuality. Either that or they drive some tin-pot car that’s broken d-”

Anything else he was about to say was cut off as the front door began to rattle in its frame from the force of a series of heavy-handed knocks.

Harry and the Dursleys went into the hallway. The light behind through the window on the door was completely blotted out by an enormous silhouette.

“Well, open the door, boy,” Uncle Vernon ordered. He attempted to give Harry a shove in the direction of the door, but received a sharp peck on the hand by Fea for his trouble.

Standing on the other side of the door when Harry opened it was a colossal man who was at least twice as tall a normal person and at least three times as wide. His face, which was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy man of hair and wild, tangle of beard, was ruddy and weathered as though he spent a lot of time out of doors. His clothes added to the look with the enormous leather boots that encased his feet and the moleskin overcoat that he wore overtop a pair of sturdy trousers. Both the overcoat and his waistcoat were covered with pockets – the contents of which Harry could only imagine.

“Hello there,” said the giant, squeezing his way into the Dursleys’ home, carefully stooping so that the top of his head just brushed the ceiling. His eyes, glittering like black beetle wings beneath all of his hair, looking at each one of them in turn until they finally landed on Harry.

“An’ here’s Harry!” he added, sounding incredibly fond. “A very happy birthday to yeh. I got summat fer yeh here – I mighta sat on it at some point, but I imagine it’ll taste all right none the less.”

From an inside pocket of his overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed pink box and placed it into Harry’s hands. Harry opened it and found within a large, sticky chocolate cake with _Happy Birthday Harry_ written on it in green icing.

“Baked it meself,” proclaimed the giant proudly. “Letters an’ all.”

The giant’s beetle black eyes were crinkled in a smile that Harry couldn’t help but return.

“Thank you, Mister – erm.” Harry began, only to trail off embarrassedly.

Instead of being insulted the giant merely chuckled.

“Sorry, I haven’t introduced meself, have I. I am Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. You can call me, Hagrid, everyone does – never mind the mister.”

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry’s whole arm.

“Yeh’re lookin’ well, Harry,” Hagrid went on. “O’course, las’ time I saw you, you was only a baby. Yeh’re ya dad’s spitin’ image, but yeh’ve got yer mum’s eyes.”

He gave a sudden sniff, his eyes going suspiciously damp. From one of his other pockets he pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and dabbed at his shining black eyes.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that I knew yer mum an’ dad, an’ nicer people yeh couldn’t find … Head girl an’ Captain of the Quidditch team at Hogwarts in their day…. An’ seein’ em like I did that las’ time….” He gave a full body shudder like an enormous dog trying to rid its coat of water. “I shouldn’ mention it. Today’s suppose ter be a happy day fer you.”

“Y-you were there that night,” Harry asked faintly, feeling oddly lightheaded all of a sudden.

Hagrid nodded head great shaggy head sadly.

“Yeah. I took yeh from the ruined house meself, on Dumbledore’s orders. Then brought yeh here ter yer aunt an’ uncle…”

“You’re the one who left him here that night,” Aunt Petunia snapped, coming out to stand in front of her husband and son. Her pale eyes were flashing furiously.

“O’ course,” said Hagrid, sounding rather confused about what might be the matter. “Dumbledore said it was the safest place for him –”

“Safe? Safe!” Aunt Petunia burst, seizing Harry by the scruff of the neck and jerking him back towards her. “He was near dead when I found him the next morning. Hypothermic from the rain. Not to mention the foul curse that had been left to fester in that horrible scar! If my father hadn’t shown up when he did my nephew would most likely be _dead_!”

Hagrid appeared thunderstruck by Aunt Petunia’s ranting, then his expression just became thunderous.

“Now, yeh listen here,” he said, drawing a battered pink umbrella from within his coat. “Yeh’ve got it wrong, I tell yeh! Albus Dumbledore’s a great man an’ he’d never do anything ter endanger this boy!”

A series of multi-colored sparks shot from the tip of the umbrella causing Dudley to gasp and Uncle Vernon to make a funny rasping noise in fear, but Aunt Petunia stood firm.

“Ask your so-called ‘great man’ next time you see him,” she challenged.

Hagrid seemed to swell with anger, “I’m warning you, Mrs. Dursley – _don’t insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me!_ ”

Harry, worried that things were going to deteriorate to the point where someone was hexed or worse, burst in, “Um – Mr. Hagrid, sir – shouldn’t we be going? It’s – erm – quite a way to London and there’s a lot to get on my supply list.”

Thankfully, Hagrid took the out and the giant seemed to deflate.

“Yes, yes o’ course,” he said, returning his battered pink umbrella to one of his coat’s inner pockets. “I’ll – I’ll be outside when yer ready.” He squeezed himself back out the door of number four and stood waiting for Harry in the front garden.

When Harry went to follow him Aunt Petunia held him back with a firm hand upon his shoulder.

“Are you sure you want to go with him,” she asked softly, her pale eyes staring into Harry's brilliant green.

Touched by his aunt’s rare show of concern Harry patted her boney hand with his own the moonstone in his ring glinting as he did so. “I’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “I’ll have Fea with me after all.”


	4. Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra long chapter to celebrate the end of the semester. Freedom!

Their little group attracted a lot of attention from passersby during the mile and a half hike from Privet Drive to the train station in Langley. For Harry it was on account of the large, raven-shaped being perched on his shoulder and the even larger trunk he was wheeling along behind him. Hagrid, meanwhile, drew stares on account of just how big he was, not to mention the fact that he kept pointing out perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and letter boxes and saying loudly, “See that, Harry? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?”

“I don’t think he gets out much,” Fea muttered under her breath so that only Harry could hear.

“At least not around Muggles,” Harry agreed, then in a slightly louder tone said, “Erm – Hagrid, thanks for … you know … not hexing my aunt or anything….”

Hagrid tugged at his beard, his eyes not meeting Harry’s. 

“I shouldn’ta lost me temper,” he said sheepishly. “Not that I would o’ actually jinxed her…. Strictly speakin’, I’m – er – not supposed ter do magic….”

“Why not,” Harry asked. He knew it was a bit of a rude question, but there were very few reasons why a grown wizard wasn’t allowed to do magic and few of them were good.

“Well – yeh see, I was at Hogwarts meself, but I – er – well, I got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. Me wand was snapped an’ everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. I owe him everythin’ fer that.”

 _Well_ , Harry thought, _that certainly explains Hagrid’s undying loyalty to Dumbledore._ He wondered what Hagrid had done at thirteen that had had him deemed too irresponsible to be allowed to continue practicing magic, but he doubted Hagrid would tell him.

The stationhouse at Langley was a white building with shutters the same grey-green color of lichen. According to the schedule there would be a train to London in ten minutes – if it was on time. Hagrid, who was as unfamiliar with the purpose of a parking meter as he was with ‘Muggle money’ passed a stack of notes to Harry so that he could buy their tickets.

While they waited for their train to arrive Hagrid pulled an issue of the wizarding newspaper _The Daily Prophet_ from within his coat and began to flick through it. 

“Minister fer Magic’s bunglin’ things up as usual,” Hagrid muttered, turning a page.

Pale grey met kaleidoscopic green as Fea and Harry exchanged a look. They had both heard plenty from Harry’s grandad about the antics of the new Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. 

Once the train arrived it was a half hour ride into the city to Paddington Station, then another half an hour from there to Charing Cross. Hagrid spent the ride knitting something that looked like a canary-yellow circus tent, but that Harry assumed was actually a jumper for the large man.

“Got yer letter, Harry?” Hagrid had asked while they’d waited for their train to Charing Cross.

Harry had patted his jean pocket in confirmation and felt the crinkle of parchment against his thigh. 

“Good, good,” said Hagrid, running a finger along his knitting needle as he counted his stitches to make sure he hadn’t dropped any. “Firs’ stop fer us when we get ter Diagon Alley will be Gingotts. You’ll need ter get some money from yer vault fer yer school things an’ Dumbledore needs me ter do somethin’ fer him while I’m there as well. Hogwarts business, yeh know.” 

Hagrid drew himself up proudly.

“Dumbledore gets me ter do a lot o’ important stuff fer him,” Hagrid went on. “Fetchin’ you – getting’ things from Gringotts – knows he can trust me, see.”

~¤~¤~¤~ 

Harry had only been to London a few times before. Once to the British Museum for a school trip and another for a bit of a working holiday with his grandfather to the Tower of London. Both had been interesting even if it had been a bit of a shock to have Anne Boleyn tell him off for starring when he’d caught sight of her beheaded specter. And yet, on none of these excursions had he ever had a chance to visit Diagon Alley.

Thankfully, Hagrid seemed to know where he was going even if he was unfamiliar with getting himself there by non-magical means. He got stuck when they went through the ticket barriers and complained loudly that the seats were too small (he’d need two) and the trains too slow.

“I jus’ don’t know how Muggles manage without magic,” he told Harry as he helped him carry his trunk up a broken-down escalator to a busy road lined with shops.

Navigating the horde of people that were out and about was only possible due to Hagrid’s large size. The man’s bulk parted the crowd like Moses with the Red Sea, which allowed Harry to wheel his trunk along behind him with relative ease as they passed book shops, music stores, and hamburger bars.

“An’ here we are,” said Hagrid as he came to a stop, “the Leaky Cauldron. It’s a famous place.”

What it was, was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn’t pointed it out, Harry wouldn’t have noticed it was even there. The people on the pavement hurrying by didn’t glance at it. Their eyes sliding from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other side as if the Leaky Cauldron wasn’t there at all.

“It’s a Notice-Me-Not melded with a subtle Muggle Repelling Charm that has been woven into the pub’s very foundation,” Fea whispered in his ear. “Quite an impressive bit of spell-work really.”

Impressive warding or not, the Leaky Cauldron’s interior was as dark and shabby looking as its exterior. There was a trio of old women were sitting off in one corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One with lurid blue hair, another with bejeweled spectacles, and a third who was smoking a long pipe. And there was a slight man in an eerily familiar looking violet top hat talking to the elderly bartender, who was quite bald and looked rather like a gummy walnut.

When they entered there was a lull in the low buzz of chatter as there always was when someone new came into a place with a limited clientele, but it returned quickly enough when everyone realized that it was just another familiar face. 

Several people waved at Hagrid or they smiled in greeting. The old bartender even held up an empty glass and called out, “The usual, Hagrid?”

“Can’t, Tom, I’m on Hogwarts business,” Hagrid replied, clapping one of his enormous hands on Harry’s shoulder with enough force it nearly drove Harry to his knees and earned him an angry hiss from Fea. “Oh, sorry ’bout that, Harry,” he muttered apologetically.

“Merlin’s beard,” said the bartender, staring raptly at Harry, “is this – can this be –?”

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent. 

“Stars and stones,” whispered the old bartender, “Harry Potter … what an honor.”

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes. 

“Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back.”

“Erm – Thank you…,” Harry managed awkwardly. He could feel all of the eyes in the room on him. It was an uncomfortable feeling to say the least.

He’d grown up knowing about his parents’ death at the hand of the Dark Lord Voldemort, but he hadn’t known until he was older about the ‘fame’ his family had accrued on account of it. He hadn’t quite believed his grandad about how the wizarding world viewed him until that very moment, in fact.

But it was hard to ignore the great scraping of chairs and the fact that in an instant he found himself surrounded by the pub’s patrons; each of them clamoring to shake his hand.

“Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can’t believe I’m meeting you at last,” said a fluttery middle-aged witch, seizing Harry’s hand with both of hers.

“So proud, Mr. Potter,” said another beaming witch. “I’m just so proud.”

“Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can’t tell you,” exclaimed the wizard in the violet top hat. “Diggle’s the name, Dedalus Diggle.”

“I’ve seen you before,” said Harry wrenching his hand away from Dedalus Diggle’s grasping fingers. “You – you were watching me at the pizza parlor!”

“You remember me!” cried Dedalus Diggle, his top hat toppling off his head in his excitement. “He remembers me! Did you hear that?” he called, addressing the surrounding witches and wizards. His chest puffed up with pride. “He remembers _me_!” 

But Harry wasn’t about to let the matter go.

“Have you been following me,” he demanded, green eyes flashing the same color as deadly spell-light. “Have you?”

There was an uncomfortable lull in the excited buzz within the Leaky Cauldron. The patrons all looking between Harry and Diggle with apprehension. 

“W-Well, yes … but it was orders,” Diggle spluttered, his hands wringing the brim of his retrieved hat anxiously. “Same as Hagrid’s for bringing you here today – Right, Hagrid.”

Hagrid was indeed nodding his great shaggy head. 

“O’ course, Harry,” Hagrid informed him. “Diggle’s one of the old crowd – same as yer parents were. Dumbledore likes for one of us to check up on yeh ever now an’ again.”

“Dumbledore has people spying on me,” Harry growled furiously, easily sliding into a loose-limbed stance – for fight of flight he didn’t yet know.

“Easy, Fledgling,” Fea whispered into his ear. “We’ll discuss this with Abhorsen when he returns, but for now wait and observe.”

“It’s not _spyin’_ ,” Hagrid protested. “Dumbledore just want’s ter make sure you were bein’ properly looked after. That’s all. Fer yer own good, you know … not all of You-Know-Who’s followers were caught after all….” 

“Yes – I suppose so,” Harry was willing to concede at least that much. He knew there would be no arguing with Hagrid about anything else. The man’s belief that Dumbledore could do no wrong was too deeply entrenched.

All too soon the Leaky Cauldron was abuzz with witches and wizards demanding Harry’s attention once again – Doris Crockford kept coming back for more. She had just finished wringing his hand for a third time when a pale young man made his way forward. He was obviously anxious with an intermittent tremor in his hands and spasmodic smile pulling at his thin face.

As with many of the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron, Hagrid recognized the man at once. 

“Why hello, Professor, I didn’t see you,” he said genially. “Harry, this is Professor Quirrell. He’ll be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts.”

Professor Quirrell’s smile was more of a weak grimace as he shook hands with Harry.

“Harry P-P-Potter,” he stammered. “I c-can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you.”

Harry nodded absently at the professor’s words, his mind was on other things. Such as the unusually chilled feeling of the other wizard’s aura. It was as though he’d been around something Dead recently and it had tainted him.

“You’re the Defense teacher … have you encountered many Dark Creatures then?” he asked with interest.

“A f-fair few,” murmured Professor Quirrell, looking as though he’d rather not think about it. “F-Fearfully f-f-fascinating subject… N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?” He erupted in a nervous twitter of laughter. “You’ll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I’ve g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself.” He looked terrified at the very thought.

The others in the pub seemed to think that Professor Quirrell had monopolized enough of Harry’s time and worked to reclaim his attention for themselves. It took almost a quarter of an hour to get away from the lot of them. Finally, however, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble. 

“Yes, well, we’d best get goin’ now – lot’s ter buy,” he called to the room at large, then to Tom the barkeeper, he said, “You’ll settle Harry’s trunk in a room fer him, won’t yeh?”

“Of course,” Tom promised, whisking Harry’s trunk out of sight.

“Right then,” Hagrid went on. “Let’s go, Harry – lots ter buy.”

Doris Crockford shook Harry’s hand one last time, and then Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there seemed to be nothing but a rubbish bin and a few weeds.

Hagrid was grinning at him. 

“Did them folks a lotta good, seein’ you – seein’ you come back ter our world,” he said. “Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin’ ter meet yeh – mind you, he’s usually tremblin’.”

“Is he always that nervous?” Harry asked with interest.

“Yeah,” said Hagrid absently. “Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. An’ he was fine while he was studyin’ outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience…. Rumor has it that he met vampires or summat o’ the like in the Black Forest … Then there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag – he’s never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject – now, where’s me umbrella?”

So, the professor had come across something Dead, Harry mused. And in the Black Forest too… Was there any chance that he’d stumbled across the Dead thing his grandad had been hunting….? 

As Harry pondered this, Hagrid was counting bricks in the wall above the bin. 

“Three up … two across …” he muttered. “Right, remember that, Harry.” 

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella and something astonishing happened. The brick he had touched quivered in its mortar, then it as well as those surrounding it began to move and wiggled as they rearranged themselves into an archway that was high enough that even Hagrid could pass through without stooping. And through the archway was a long, cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

“Welcome,” said Hagrid dramatically, “to Diagon Alley.”

Aside from Abhorsen’s Ait, Harry had never been in such an obviously magical place before in his life. It was with open awe that he followed Hagrid through the archway, which reformed itself instantly back into a solid wall the moment they were through.

“There’s where we’ll get yer cauldron,” said Hagrid motioning towards a shop that had stacks of cauldrons glinting in the sun nearby. A sign above the door read: All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver – Self-Stirring – Collapsible. “But first we’ve gotta get your money from Gringotts.” 

Diagon Alley was amazing and Harry couldn’t wait until he could go and explore, but for now he could only content himself with looking. His head felt like it was on a swivel as he attempted to take everything in at once: the shops, the things outside of them, and the people doing their shopping.

Outside Mr. Mulpepper’s Apothecary there was a plump, red-haired woman shaking her head as they passed, muttering, “Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they’re mad….” 

Then a little further down a low, soft hooting was coming from a dark shop with a sign that read, Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Great Grey, and Snowy…. And opposite it was a group of children around Harry’s age with their noses pressed against the window of Quality Quidditch Supply gazing covetously at the sleek, shiny broomsticks on display. 

“Look,” Harry heard one of them say, “it’s the new Nimbus Two Thousand – it’s their fastest model yet!”

There were shops selling wizard’s robes and shops selling telescopes and strange instruments that Harry had only ever read about in the library at Agesander Hall. Everything that was on Harry’s list was there and more besides.

“An’ here’s Gringotts,” Hagrid announced as they reached a snowy white building that towered over the little shops of the alley. “Ain’t no safer place – ’cept maybe Hogwarts. The goblins use all sorts of spells and enchantments to do their job…. Then, some say there’re dragons guardin’ the high security vaults.”

“Dragons? But aren’t the vaults underground?” Harry asked, thinking that wilddeoren or some other ferocious cave dwelling beast would be more effective.

“Well, so they say,” said Hagrid as they mounted the white marble steps of the bank. “Crikey, I’d like a dragon.”

“You’d _like_ one?” Harry asked aghast.

“Wanted one ever since I was a kid,” Hagrid confirmed. “Ah, here we go.”

They had reached a pair of burnished bronze doors that led into the bank. Standing beside them was a goblin wearing a scarlet and gold uniform. He was about a head shorter than Harry with a swarthy, clever face, and long, clawed fingers that looked, Harry noticed, as though they possessed an extra joint.

The goblin bowed as they walked inside. His shrewd eyes never leaving them as they passed.

Through the bronze doors were a second set which were made of silver. Engraved upon them was the following:

 

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

 

“Like I said, yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it,” said Hagrid.

Another pair of gobbling bowed them through the silver doors and then they found themselves inside a vast marble hall. At least a hundred more goblins were there sitting on high stools behind a long counter. Some were scribbling in large ledgers, others were weighing coins in brass scales, and still more were examining precious stones through eyeglasses that wouldn’t have been out of place in a jeweler’s shop.    

There were countless doors leading off from the hall and even more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and Harry (with Fea in tow) headed for the counter first.

“Morning,” said Hagrid to the goblin teller. “Mr. Harry Potter would like ter make a withdrawal.”

The goblin peered at Harry down his very long and pointed nose.

“And does Mr. Harry Potter have his key?” asked the goblin.

“Yes, sir,” said Harry promptly, fishing a small golden skeleton key from his pocket and handing it to the goblin. “It’s for vault three hundred and fifty-nine.”

The goblin examined the key closely.

“That’s seemed to be in order,” he said, returning it to Harry. “Will that be all?”

“Ah, no – there’s one more thing – I’ve got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore,” Hagrid added, puffing up his chest importantly. “It’s about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen.”

The goblin accepted the letter that Hagrid pulled from within one of his coat’s many, many pockets and it carefully.    

“Very well,” he said, handing it back to Hagrid, “I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!”

Griphook, it turned out, was yet another goblin. He led the trio towards on of the doors leading off the hall.

“What’s the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?” Harry asked.       

“’Fraid I can’t tell yeh that, Harry,” said Hagrid mysteriously. “It’s Hogwarts business an’ Dumbledore’s trusted me, see. Worth more’n my job ter tell yeh that.”     

“School business my tailfeathers,” Fea murmured in Harry’s ear, shifting her weight and causing the bell to chime. “Dumbledore’s scheming – mark my words.”     

The goblin, Griphook, looked over at them sharply as the peal of the bell echoed eerily off of the corridor walls.    

The door Griphook led them through opened on to a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. In the center of the passageway was a little set of railway tracks set into the floor, which sloped steeply downwards.

Griphook gave a sharp whistle that tingled with magical energy to Harry’s senses and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks towards them. They all climbed in – Hagrid with some difficulty – and then were off.

At first, the cart just hurtled along through a maze of twisting passages. As they clattered along, Harry tried to remember, left, right, right again, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible to keep track. The cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook didn’t appear to be steering.

Harry’s eyes stung as the cold air of the subterranean passageway whipped past them, but he kept them open nevertheless. He felt laughter bubbling in his chest. This mad cart ride was like being on the wildest rollercoaster ever. The only thing that could top it was flying on his broomstick.

Once, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a burst of flame at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if there were indeed dragon in the tunnels deep below the Underground, but he looked too late – the cart had plunged them even deeper and they were now passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

“You know, I can never remember the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite,” Harry called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart.

“Stalagmite’s got an ‘m’ in it,” said Hagrid, before quickly adding, “An’ don’ ask me question just now, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He did look very green beneath his beard, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.

Griphook climbed out of the cart behind Hagrid, the tips of his tapered ears barely reaching the large man’s kneecaps. 

“Key please,” he demanded, extending a claw tipped hand towards Harry.

Harry handed his vault key to Griphook, who unlocked the door and then returned the key to Harry, who returned it to his pocket once more. As the vault door opened a lot of green smoke came billowing out. As it cleared Harry saw the contents of his vault for the very first time. Inside were mounds of gold Galleons, columns of silver Sickles, and heaps of little bronze Knuts. 

“Remember, the gold ones are Galleons and they’re the most valuable, so you’ll want plenty of them.” Fea instructed Harry as he scooped a liberal amount of each denomination into a leather purse. “Then it’s seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle. So, you’ll want a bit of each to make change.” 

“How many Galleons to a pound?” Harry asked, turning to look at Griphook assuming the goblin would have a better idea of the exchange rate than either Fea or Hagrid.     

“Five pounds to a Galleon,” replied the goblin. “Twenty-nine pence to a Sickle and one penny equals a Knut.”   

Harry nodded, but didn’t thank the goblin. He didn’t know if goblins were distant enough kin to the Fae that they didn’t consider the offering of thanks to automatically mean that they were owed a debt, but he wasn’t about to take the chance.        

“Well,” said Hagrid tying of the money pouch and handing it to Harry for safekeeping, “that should be enough fer everything this time ’round.” He turned to Griphook. “Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?”         

“One speed only,” said Griphook, a wicked smile flitting across his swarthy face.        

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try and see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled him back by the scruff of his neck.        

Vault seven hundred and thirteen was different from Harry’s. It had no keyhole.       

“Stand back,” said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with the clawed tip of one of his long fingers and it simply melted away.     

“If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they’d be sucked through the door and trapped in there,” said Griphook.      

“How often do you check to see if anyone’s inside?” Harry asked.      

“About once every ten years,” said Griphook with a rather nasty grin. Proof that for all they now dressed themselves up in little suits with tailcoats and breeches instead of leather and armor nowadays – a goblin was still a goblin.      

Thankful that there weren’t any moldering skeletons of previously trapped thieves, Harry leaned forward eagerly to see if he could catch a glimpse of what was inside this top security vault. At first, he felt a surge of disappointment, because it appeared to be empty; then he noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper laying on the floor. Hagrid quickly picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat.

“Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don’t talk to me on the way back, it’s best if I keep me mouth shut,” said Hagrid.  

Harry longed to know what was inside the little package, but knew he wouldn’t receive an answer if he asked. And so, as the cart thundered its way back to the surface, Harry extended his senses to see if he could get a read of the little parcel’s aura instead.

But without physical contact, he failed miserably.

~¤~¤~¤~

Another wild cart ride later and the trio once again stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts.

“Where to next?” asked Harry, retrieving his rumpled supply list from his pocket and doing his best straighten it.

“Might as well get yer uniform,” said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. “Listen, Harry,” he went on tensely. “Would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a bit of a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts.”   

“Yeah, alright,” Harry hedged, fidgeting with the silver ring on his finger.

Hagrid did look as though he still felt rather ill…. Not to mention it wasn’t as though he would really be _alone_ in the robe shop. Nevertheless, Harry felt a bit nervous as he entered Madam Malkin’s shop. 

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed entirely in mauve from her boots to the tip of her pointed hat, which sat rakishly askew on her sleek grey hair.

“Hogwarts, dear?” she asked, as Harry entered the shop. “We’ve got the lot here – there’s another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.”   

She led him to the back of the shop where there was indeed another boy being fitted for his long black robes by a second witch, who was also dressed all in mauve. The boy looked to be the same age as Harry, but where his hair was jet-black the other boy’s was such a pale blond that it looked almost white.   

“Your raven can perch on a chair in the corner while we take your measurements, alright,” said Madam Malkin, pointing to a ladderback chair that had been set aside in what appeared to be an informal waiting area.  

While Fea settled herself in for the wait, Madam Malkin had Harry to step up onto a stool next to the blond boy’s, then she slipped a too long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

“Hello,” said the boy, “Will you be attending Hogwarts, too?”   

“Yes,” said Harry, with a small nod.     

“My father’s next door buying my books and Mother’s up the street looking at potions ingredients,” said the boy. He had a bored, drawling sort of voice that made him seem as though he had rather be anywhere else than here. “Once I’m finished here I think I’ll drag them off to look a racing broom,” he added, sounding a bit more animated. “I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully Father into getting me the new model everyone’s talking about and then I’ll smuggle it in somehow."       

Fea gave a muffled croak, and Harry knew she was restraining herself from laughing. He couldn’t blame her – the boy was like a skinny wizarding version of Dudley.       

“Have _you_ got your own broom?” the boy asked pointedly, and Harry was once again reminded of the Dursleys as his uncle often judged the importance of other people why how big and expensive their cars were.

“Yeah, I’ve got a Scarlet Falcon,” said Harry. “What sort of broom do you fly?”

“A Comet Two Sixty,” said the blond dismissively. “It’s a decent starter broomstick, but it’s not quite up to snuff if you want to play Quidditch – you do play, don’t you?”

“Never had the chance,” Harry admitted. He’d read about the most popular sport in the wizarding world, but growing up around Muggles meant he was more familiar with pickup matches of footie with the boys at school, than tossing a Quaffle around.          

“ _I_ do,” said the blond smugly. “Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house team, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet?”     

“Not really,” said Harry, who was beginning to feel as though he was being interrogated rather than fitted for a set of robes.

“Well, I suppose no one really knows until they get there,” the other boy conceded. “But I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all of my family has been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

“Not if it meant I’d lose out on the chance to learn magic, I wouldn’t,” Harry retorted coolly. His grandad had been a Hufflepuff, after all.   

The blond boy’s pale eyes became almost thoughtful for a moment, but it didn’t last.

“I say, look at that man!” he exclaimed suddenly, pointing towards the shop’s front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice-creams to show he couldn’t come in.

“That’s Hagrid,” said Harry, giving a small wave at the large man to let him know that he’d seen him. “He works at Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” said the boy, “I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?” 

“He’s the gamekeeper,” Harry said shortly. He was beginning to find the other boy’s snobby attitude highly irritating. 

“Yes, exactly,” the blond burst. “I heard he’s some sort of _savage_ – who lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed.”

“I’m sure fire magic is difficult enough sober,” Harry remarked sardonically. “I’d like to see anyone try it while plastered.”

“You might be right there,” the boy sniggered, obviously imagining the chaos of drunken spellcasting. “But why is he with you? Where are your parents?”

“They’re dead,” Harry informed him shortly. He didn’t feel like discussing the matter with the boy. “Thankfully the school was kind enough to send someone to escort me, since the relatives I’m staying with aren’t magical.”

“You’re not one of them, are you?” the blond sneered. “A _Muggle_ -born.”

“ _No_ ,” Harry said quite coolly. “Both of my parents were magical, not that it matters.”

The boy looked at him with exasperation as though he were clearing not understanding some fundamental truth.

“Of course, it matters,” he said. “They just aren’t the same as people like us. They’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them don’t even know they have magic until they get their letter for Hogwarts – can you imagine? My Father says they should only let the old families attend, you know – What is your surname, anyway?”

Thankfully, Harry was saved from further conversation with the boy when Madam Malkin said, “That’s you done, my dear,” and he was allowed to hop down from the stool.

“I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,” said the boy.

Harry hummed noncommittally, held out his arm for Fea to alight on, then followed Madam Malkin over to the till.

“We ought to have everything ready by this afternoon, dear, if you’d like to pop back in then to pick up your uniform,” she said, tallying up his purchases.

“I’m going to be staying at the Leaky Cauldron for a while, so would it be alright if I pick my things up tomorrow if I don’t make it back before closing today?” Harry asked, counting out what felt like an obscene amount of money and handing it over.

“Of course, dear,” said Madam Malkin cheerily, “Do come again anytime.”

Harry didn’t say much as he split the ice-cream Hagrid had bought him (chocolate and cherry with chopped walnuts) with Fea. The raven swallowing bits of walnut whole, while Harry chewed absently on a toothsome chunk of cherry.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Hagrid asked.

“No…,” Harry muttered, studiously focusing on his ice-cream and hoping that Hagrid wouldn’t press.    

Their next stop was a place called Scribblulus Writing Instruments where they bought parchment, ink, and goose feather quills. Harry’s mood improving as he looked through the specialty section of the shop, taking in with keen interest the Never-Spill-Inkwells and Dicto-quills. He even splurged a bit and bought himself a bottle ink that changed colors as you wrote. It was as they were leaving, however, that Harry had managed to gather up his courage enough to ask, “Fea, is there something _wrong_ with being muggle-born?”

“You’re thinking about that boy in the robe shop, aren’t you,” she said, her pale eyes knowing.

“Yeah,” he nodded, cheek brushing against her silky feathers. “And, you didn’t answer my question,” he prodded.

“Don’t be impatient,” she retorted, nipping him sharply on the tip of the ear. “It’s not an easy question, you know.”

While Harry rubbed his smarting ear, Fea pondered her answer. Finally, she said, “In and of itself there isn’t anything _wrong_ with being muggle-born…. And while that boy wasn’t wrong that muggle-borns enter the wizarding world completely ignorant of its ways and customs. It can’t hardly be considered their fault when the Statute of Secrecy – Wizarding Law itself – is what keeps them ignorant in the first place….

“Honestly,” she went on. “If anything in what that boy was saying was wrong – it was his father’s belief that muggle-borns shouldn’t be taught. Nothing good comes from ignorance, Harry. Remember that.”

The trio’s next stop was Potage’s Cauldron Shop where they purchased a handsome pewter cauldron, and then they went to Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment where they bought collapsible telescope and Basic Potioneer Kit, which included: a set of scales for weighing ingredients, measuring spoons, glass phials, cutting board, potioneer’s knife, and a heavy stone mortar and pestle.

After leaving Wiseacre’ they went to the largest book shop on the alley, Flourish and Blotts. The interior of which left Harry agog with its ceiling high shelves of books on all sorts of magic. And while, Harry wouldn’t have considered himself to be particularly bookish the offerings of Flourish and Blotts were too enticing to ignore. He quickly acquired the nine course books and then disappeared back into the stacks for more. Hagrid almost had to drag him away from _Curses and Counter-curses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More)_ by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

“But it might come in handy,” he protested as Hagrid returned the book to its spindle legged table. 

“I’m not sayin’ that it wouldn’, but yeh’ll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level,” Hagrid agreed, pointing him in the direction of _Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed_ by Trixia Lancaster, instead.

Outside Flourish and Blotts, Hagrid checked Harry’s list again while Harry stored his new books in his cauldron so that they would be easier to carry. 

“It’s jus’ yer wand left,” he said ticking off the items on the list with a long quill made from a feather that was so large Harry wondered if it had come from a roc. “An’ I still haven got yeh a birthday present.”

Harry felt his face begin to burn.

“You really don’t have to,” he protested, but Hagrid waved him off.

“I know I don’t have to, I want to,” he said, and began tugging at his beard ponderously. “I’d thought about gettin’ yeh an animal, but yeh’ve already got a raven –”

“Actually, Fea’s Grandad’s if she’s anyone’s,” said Harry. “He asked her to watch out for me while he’s abroad.”

Hagrid hummed at this, then began steering them towards Eeylops Owl Emporium.

“I’m glad ter hear yeh got family yer close ter, Harry – I worried ’bout yeh when the headmaster’d placed yeh with yer aunt an’ uncle,” Hagrid admitted. “Yeh’ll need a way to keep in touch with them while yer at Hogwarts, so I’m goin’ ter get yeh an owl. Dead useful they are. They’ll carry yer post an’ everythin’.”

Thirty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium with a beautiful snowy owl (her cage carried by Hagrid) and yet another book for Harry ( _You & Your Owl_ by Rufus Boobook). 

“Thank you so, so much Hagrid,” Harry found himself stammering time and time again.

“Don’ mention it,” Hagrid said gruffly before attempting to change the subject, “Now, what was left on that list of yours, again?”

“Um…,” Harry hummed, retrieving his list from his pocket. “A wand.”  

“Ah,” said Hagrid. “Best be headin’ fer Ollivanders then – only place fer a proper wand, and yeh’ve gotta have the best wand.”

His own wand … he’d been waiting for this at least as long as he’d known what magic was. 

Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 A.D. was a narrow, shabby looking little shop with a single wand laying on a faded purple cushion in its dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a pair of spindly legged chairs; one of which, was occupied by a girl who looked to be a little younger then Harry. She had elbow-length, silvery blonde hair that hung in gentle waves about her pale heart-shaped face, very pale eyebrows, and protuberant eyes of a near colorless gray that gave her a permanently surprised look. She had been reading a magazine called _The Quibbler_ , but looked up at them as they entered. She did not seem to need to blink as much as normal humans. She stared and stared at Harry and he secretly wished that she would blink.

Her eyes didn’t waver from him even as Hagrid claimed the unoccupied chair beside her; but, they did flicker briefly in Fea’s direction when the raven took wing to perch atop the snowy owl’s cage. 

“ _You’re_ Harry Potter,” she said her voice dreamy and melodious. It wasn’t a question.

“I know I am,” said Harry speaking just above a whisper. There was a distinct air in the shop like that of a very strict library; perhaps it was because of the tall, narrow rows of shelves with thousands of slender boxes piled neatly up to the ceiling. In any case, Harry could feel the back of his neck prickling as though the very air in the shop tingled with some secret magic.

“I’m Luna Lovegood,” said the girl, blinking finally. “Don’t worry my grandfather will be able to find the perfect wand for you….”

Harry’s brow knitted as he wondered if he’d looked that worried, but before he could say anything a soft voice right behind him said,” Good afternoon.”

Harry jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off his spindly chair. In fact, the only ones who had not were Fea, the snowy owl (who was still asleep), and Luna Lovegood, who was now smiling brightly – her eyes focused on something – or rather _someone_ – just over Harry’s right shoulder.

Harry turned his head and saw that there was an old man now standing behind him. He had the same wide, pale eyes as Luna Lovegood.

“Hello,” said Harry awkwardly.

“Ah yes,” said the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I would be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.” Again, it wasn’t a question. “I see you have inherited your mother’s eyes, but will you walk her path too…? It is a difficult path you and your kin must walk….”

“Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?” said Harry, not entirely sure where the words had come from, but they rang in the stillness of the shop with a sense of rightness.

Mr. Ollivander smiled enigmatically at his words and took a step closer to Harry. He seemed to need to blink as much as his granddaughter, which was to say half as much as a regular person. However, unlike Luna, his eyes seemed to shine with an eerie inner light that gave the impression he was looking right through you. It was very creepy. 

“Yes, you are most assuredly of Amarantha’s Get, Abhorsen-in-Waiting,” Mr. Ollivander whispered, he was so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose and Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. “I wonder what wand will choose you … because it is the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.”

Mr. Ollivander’s eyes skimmed Harry’s hairline and came to rest on his lightning bolt scar.

“I am sorry to say that it was my family that sold the wand that did it,” he said softly, raising a long, white finger and touching the mark with the care a priest might a holy relic. “Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. A powerful wan, very powerful, and in the wrong hands … well, we know which wand belong to who, but it is up to the wielder to choose what they do….”

He shook his head and then, to Harry’s relief, looked away. His attention now on Hagrid.

“Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again,” Mr. Ollivander crowed. “Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?”

“It was, sir, yes,” said Hagrid.

“Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?” said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern. 

“Er – yes, they did, yes,” said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. “I’ve still got the pieces, though,” he added brightly.

“But you don’t _use_ them?” said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

“Oh, no, sir,” said Hagrid quickly, but Harry noticed he’d placed one of his large hands rather protectively over the pocket that contained the man’s pink umbrella.

“Hmmm,” said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. “Well, now – Mr. Potter. Let me see.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”     

“Your dominate arm,” Luna clarified; she had set her magazine aside and was watching the proceedings with great interest.  

“Erm – I write with my left-hand, but I use a sword primarily with my right, so I don’t really know,” he hedged.

Mr. Ollivander made a faint humming sound at this pronouncement.

“Interesting … well, hold out both your arms – like this,” he said extending his arms so that he looked like a giant version of the letter T. “That’s it.”

He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. I use a wide variety of materials, though the most common – if they can be considered such – are unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two magical creatures are quite the same. And of course, you will never get as good results with another wizard’s wand as you do with one that has chosen you.”

Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. 

“That will do,” he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. “Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Blackthorn and dragon heartstring. Ten-and-three-quarter inches. Stable. Just take it and give it a wave.”

Harry took the wand, but it felt like nothing more than a dead twig in his hands. Mr. Ollivander, obviously sensing that this was not a match snatched it out of his hand at once.

Rowan and unicorn hair. Nine inches. Steadfast. Try it, please –”

Harry tried – but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

“No, no – here, beech and phoenix feather, twelve-and-a-third inches, whippy. Go on, go on, try it out.”

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair Hagrid had vacated, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.      

“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”       

Harry took the wand and immediately he felt a difference. There was a sudden warmth flowing through his fingers like a gentle cress. He raised the pale wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of gold and silver sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped, Fea crowed in delight, Luna applauded and Mr. Ollivander cried, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well … how curious … how very curious…”

He put Harry’s wand back into its velvet lined box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, “Curious … curious …”     

“Sorry,” said Harry, “but _what’s_ curious?”    

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.   

“I know every wand in this shop, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. Past, Present, and Future. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar.”   

Harry swallowed.

“Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember…. I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter…. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great.”

Harry shivered. He wasn’t sure he liked Mr. Ollivander too much. He paid seven gold Galleons he paid for his wand and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop. As they left, Harry noticed Luna Lovegood watching through the dusty shop window.

~¤~¤~¤~

The sun hung low in a sky awash with reds and golds and violet hues as they made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, and into the Leaky Cauldron, which was now bustling with what must be the dinner crowd.

“Got time fer a bite to eat before I need ter be headin’ back to Hogwarts,” Hagrid told him as they wove a circuitous route through the already occupied tables. Harry could hear whispers – like little hissing fires – spring up as he passed.  

The dined on a delicious shepherd’s pie. Hagrid with a tankard of dark ale and Harry with a goblet of spicy pumpkin juice. As they ate Harry kept looking around, taking in this strange new world that he had only been allowed to read about before.

“You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet,” said Hagrid.

Harry wasn’t sure he could explain. As much as he had come to like Hagrid over the day he wished his grandad was there. He would understand what Harry was feeling even though he couldn’t quite find the words.

Nevertheless, Harry tried.

“They think I’m special,” he said at last. “All of those people here this morning, Professor Quirrell, even Mr. Ollivander…. They expect great things, but there’s just so much that I don’t know…. What if I’m just a big disappointment.”

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows, he wore a very kind smile.

“Don’ you worry, Harry,” he said gently. “You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll have a great time at Hogwarts – I did – still do, ’smatter of fact.”

“Thanks Hagrid,” said Harry loading the words with as much sincerity as he could muster and hoping his genuine gratitude came though. Judging by the giant’s kind smile it did.

“Let’s get yeh settled,” said Hagrid heaving himself to his feet. He then went to speak with Tom the barkeeper who was also apparently Tom the innkeeper.

Harry hadn’t even realized he’d dozed off in his seat until he felt Fea tap his cheek with her beak to let him know Hagrid had returned; a long day and a belly full of good food had caught up to him.

Standing beside Hagrid was Tom, who was beaming at Harry in exactly the same way he had been earlier that day. And so, after giving him a rib cracking hug, Hagrid strode from the Leaky Cauldron.

“If you’ll follow me, Mr. Potter,” said Tom, “Hagrid and I’ve already taken all of your things up to number three – It’s where I put your trunk this morning.”

The room Tom showed him to was very nice indeed. Inside there was a comfortable-looking bed, some highly polished oak furniture and a cheerfully crackling fire lit behind the grate. Harry’s new snowy owl was sleeping peacefully in her cage atop the wardrobe and Fea immediately alighted to the footboard of the bed.             

“If there’s anything you need, Mr. Potter, don’t hesitate to ask,” said Tom, his voice full of such amazed fondness that Harry felt his face begin to heat in an uncomfortable blush.   

“Thank you,” he said, and Tom gave a small bow and left.   

Such an amazing day, he’d had, Harry thought as he climbed into bed. And yet still there was so much more to explore….


	5. Sojourn at the Leaky Cauldron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm alive. lol.  
> I can't apologize for how long it's been since my last post, because if I'm honest these past seven months have been hell for me and my family and I haven't had time to do more than occasionally scribble down notes in the lull before the next catastrophe hits.  
> I would like to thank everyone that's left kudo and comments while I've been away, because yall were little beacons of light during all of this mess.

Harry woke the next morning to find that the fire from the night before had burned itself down to red and white coals. A quick glance at the hearth to find it bereft of any ashy trails assured him that no ashwinders had risen from the unsupervised grate and slithered off to set the Leaky Cauldron ablaze with an emberlike egg.

As he climbed out of bed and began to get dress for the day in one of the few sets of robes he owned Harry couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement begin to bubble up behind his breastbone. This was the first time he had ever been allowed to stay anywhere on his own without the supervision of an adult. On the one hand it spurred within him a desire to make sure that he lived up to the trust his Grandad was giving him. While on the other hand he could get up to anything he wanted to, barring breaking the law, and no one would know. It was a heady sensation. A sensation made even more tempting by the fact that he was in the biggest wizarding shopping district in the country with his pockets rattling with gold and no one staring over his shoulder telling him what he could and couldn’t buy.

It was Fea’s voice, however, that brought him back down to reality.

“Don’t go spending all your galleons in one place, Fledgling,” she croaked as though having sensed his thoughts. “And try not to be tricked into buying anything as stupid as a solid gold gobstone set….”

“I’m just going to be picking up my order from Madam Malkin’s and visiting a few of the other shops that I didn’t have a chance to go to yesterday,” Harry informed the raven as he doled up some Owl Chow for his new pet and refreshed her water bowl.

The as yet still nameless snowy owl gave a craggy bark-like hoot of thanks before tucking into her breakfast. Meanwhile, Fea peered at him skeptically with a single pale eye.

“Of course you are,” she replied mildly. “Still, I don’t anticipate you running into any trouble,” she went on. “And if you do you have your ring. Just remember that hordes of admirers don’t count as an emergency.”           

Casting the smug raven a jaundiced look Harry pocketed his new wand and left the room; closing the door behind him with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. He ignored the raven’s cackling laughter as he made his way to the rickety staircase that led downstairs.

The dining area of the Leaky Cauldron was only sparsely populated when Harry entered. The only people in attendance that morning were Tom the bartender, who was serving bottles of pumpkin fizz to a pair of witches at the bar, and a rather full-figured witch in periwinkle robes, who was serving up breakfast to a wizened old wizard in a pointed gray hat.

As he strode up to the bar he noticed that the pumpkin fizz witches seemed to be talking nervously about something. Even Tom seemed rather stressed if the tight lines around his mouth and eyes were anything to go by.

“Is everything alright,” Harry asked the bartender. In reply the older man slid that morning’s issue of the _Daily Prophet_ over to him.

Curious Harry picked up the paper and felt his eyebrows begin creeping up towards his hairline as he saw the headline, which read:

 

**Gringotts’ Security Breached**

_The Ministry of Magic has confirmed that yesterday evening Gringotts Wizarding Bank – largely considered one of the most secure locations in Wizarding Britain – was broken into by persons unknown._

__When questioned the Gringotts spokes-goblin refused to go into detail about which vault or vaults – if any – were breached and would not comment on whether or not anything was taken._ _

_Madam Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was quick to reassure us that the Ministry is working with Gringotts to bring the culprit to justice. “The goblins are handing things on their end,” said Madam Bones, “Meanwhile, we at the DMLE encourage anyone with information regarding the break-in to come forward.”_

 

“Do you suppose the Ministry will catch whoever did it?” Harry asked Tom setting the paper aside.

“We can only hope,” said Tom, the lines of worry about his eyes deepening as he went on. “It could only have been someone practicing the worst sort of magic to get by the goblins. Everyone’s going to be on high alert until they’re caught, you mark my words.”

There was indeed an obvious presence of Magical Law Enforcement Officers patrolling the alley when Harry passed through the enchanted archway. The Leos stood out from the regular witches and wizards going about their business due to the fact that they were all dressed exactly the same in doubled-breasted robes of royal blue with stun-batons hanging from the thick leather belts around their waists. The heavy wooden rods were aglow with lines of fiery red runes along their lengths.

Harry didn’t exactly go out of his way to avoid the Leos and the other patrons bustling about, but when he could he kept his distance from them nevertheless as he made his way down the alley to Madam Malkin’s. All the while feeling thankful for the forest-green robes that ensure that he didn’t stand out from the crowd as much as he had the day before. After all, all it would take was one person noticing the lightning bolt scar on his forehead and calling out his name for him to be swarmed as he had been in the Leaky Cauldron.

However, even his desire to maintain his anonymity didn’t stop him from venturing further down the alley towards the snowy white pillars of Gringotts after he retrieved his purchase from the robe shop.

There were even more Leos congregating about the marble steps of the wizarding bank. Interspersed among them are witches and wizards who could only be Aurors, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s elite officers, if the spell-damaged dragon-hide overcoats they wore over their robes and the enchanted silver swords belted at their waists were anything to go by.

 _Tom was right_ , Harry thought feeling ill at ease. The break-in at Gringotts the day before really had unnerved those in the wizarding world.

He watched for a short while as anyone who approached the bank was waved over by the Leos for questioning before they were allowed to pass. It wasn’t long before he came to the conclusion that his day might be better spent in his room at the Leaky Cauldron familiarizing himself with his new textbooks and perhaps working out a name for his new owl.

~¤~¤~¤~ 

Fea was not pleased that he had ventured out on his own after learning of the break-in.

“You should have come right back upstairs and got me before you even thought about going out!” she crowed. “What if the thief had still been lurking somewhere on the alley! Or what if they had decided to come back to the alley today!”

“Oh come on, Fea.” Harry protested from his place atop his freshly made bed as he sorted through his new school books – the maid having already been and gone by the time he’d gotten back from Madam Malkin’s. “I’m fine. And anyway, why would the thief come back if they managed to get away without being caught. Returning to the scene of their crime would be a bit stupid, wouldn’t it?”

Fea gave a harsh croak of laughter and clacked her beak wickedly.

“Never underestimated the stupidity of humans – or any being capable of “intelligent” thought,” she informed him.

“If you say so,” said Harry neutrally, selecting _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling from his stack of books and cracking it open.

~¤~¤~¤~

Harry spent the rest of his morning skimming through his new books, which were all very interesting.

From _You & Your Owl_ he learned that post owls were specially breed for higher levels of intelligence than their non-magical cousins and that they were all hatched from rune inscribed eggs that enabled short messages to be imprinted into the birds very mind so that they could be verbally relayed to a recipient later.

Which, Harry thought, explained rather well the minute rune matrixes that on a closer inspection could be seen imbued into the keratin on either side of his snowy owl’s beak like a series of tiny tattoos.

Longer messages and parcels, the book when on to say, of course had to be physically delivered. A task that the post owl began training for almost as soon as they were fledged.

But it was while skimming through the thirteenth century in his copy of _A History of Magic_ , however, that he came across the perfect name for the owl – Hedwig. After all, in the short while he had gotten to know her his new owl seemed to posse the poise and dignity of royalty, so who better to name her after than the late Duchess of Silesia. A witch who had delighted in walking barefoot in the snow just because she could. 

~¤~¤~¤~

It was a couple of days before cabin fever got the best of Harry and he decided to chance venturing out on the alley alone again. His reasoning for doing so was threefold. Firstly, it gave the Aurors and Leos a chance to catch the criminal (which they didn’t). Secondly, he’d become a bit engrossed by his new spellsbooks and was spending more time than he usually did just reading. And thirdly, and most importantly, it gave him enough time to annoy Fea to the point where she would demand some alone time instead of riding him around like her own personal pony every time he left his room.

Still his self-imposed confinement hadn’t been completely awful. He’d even fallen into a bit of a routine quite quickly: have a bit of a lie in, get up, practice one of the katas he knew that could be performed within the confines of his room, wash up and get dressed for the day, and then head down to the dining area for a late breakfast with Fea riding along.

While eating he would then check the _Daily Prophet_ for the latest news on the Gringotts Break-in before engaging in a bit of people watching during the remainder of his meal. So far, he’d seen Healer who had just come off a late-night shift at St. Mungo’s. She’d been grumbling into her tea about some idiot who’d attempted to travel by fire with something that hadn’t actually been Floo Powder (“It’s only two sickles a bloody scoop! If I have to treat one more person with a burned backside whose blown themselves out of a chimney I’ll quit!) Then there had been a pair of youngish dwarrow (if their less than full beards was anything to go by); and, strangest of all, a rather diminutive American warlock that had been accompanied by either a highly mobile houseplant or a very small Ent. 

After breakfast, Harry would then head back upstairs to his room to do a bit of reading until lunch. After which, he would work on some of the simpler bits of magic in _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ until supper. So far, he had managed a cantrip that made different colored sparks shoot from the end of his wand on command and a charm that made the tip of it glow like a torch until the counter-spell was used.

But not today. Fea wanted him as far away from her as possible. Most likely owing to the fact that some of Harry’s wand sparks had set fire to her tailfeathers the previous evening. And so, Harry would be going out on his own once again.

They alley was marginally more crowded by regular witches and wizards up for a day of shopping than it had been in the days following the break-in, but the presence of Leos had not decreased at all. Nevertheless, Harry had a fun morning.

He visited the herbalist shop, Mulligrubs Materia Medica, and examined their shelves of readymade potions like Bruise-Be-Gone Paste and Wound Soothing Solution. He considered purchasing some for his Grandad’s first-aid kit but didn’t since he knew his grandfather had his own supplier. From there he wandered over to Sugarplum’s Sweetshop, which had such a varied selection of sweets that even Dudley Dursley would have been tempted to try some of the wizarding confections. Harry bought a spicy Dragon Claw pastry which he munched on for an early lunch as he examined window displays of everlasting candles and ash-banishing incense burners; multi-compartment wizarding trunks and bottomless bags. 

Later in the afternoon he made his way to the broomstick shop, Quality Quidditch Supply, the interior of which carried the scent of Broom Wax and the new leather of Quidditch Pads.

Half the shop was devoted to all sorts of merchandise for the both Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland (from the Appleby Arrows to the Wimbourne Wasps) as well as some of the more popular international teams. There were animated figurines of famous Quidditch players, such as the brother beater team of Karl and Kevin Broadmoor, Josef Wronski the inventor of the Wronski Feint, and Gwenog Jones the current captain of the all-female Quidditch Team, the Holyhead Harpies; pennants that shouted the teams’ motto intermittently; poster with the usual moving photographs; and even official team robes in both child sizes and for adults.

As he was examining a plushie of Barny the Fruit-bat (the mascot of the Ballycastle Bats) and wondering just what the mascot would be if Midsomer ever got their own team (probably an augury or grimm given the county’s phenomenally high murder rate) when the bell above the shop’s door chimed as a pair of boys entered. 

Carefully returning Barny to the shelf so as to not set off the spell on the plushie that made it shout the toy’s slogan (“I’m just batty about Butterbeer!”), Harry watched as the other two boys made a bee line for the other side of the shop where the new Nimbus 2000 was on display. They were the first people near his own age that Harry had seen on their own and outside the protective shadow of their parents all morning. Merlin knew he’d seen plenty of adult witches and wizards muttering about how _they_ weren’t going to let their child out on _their_ own with a Dark Wizard on the loose.

Right away the shorter of the two, a broadfaced boy with tightly curled blond hair, spotted Harry and within moments he was dragging his friend over. 

“I guess Everett and I weren’t the only ones who decided to ditch the parents to look at some racing brooms,” said the curly haired boy in lieu of a greeting as he came striding up. “I’m Cormac McLaggen and this is Everett Higgs,” he added with a careless wave towards the boy at his side.

Everett Higgs was almost a full head taller than his companion and had floppy brown hair that curled loosely around his ears.

Harry, not wishing to be mobbed again or gawked at like a zoo animal, elected to introduce himself by his first name only. Thankfully neither of the other boys seemed to be all that interested in pressing him for his surname.

“So Harry did you have to sneak out too,” pressed Cormac McLaggen.

“No,” Harry replied shaking his head. “I’ve been staying at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“Well that makes you braver than Everett’s cousin Terence,” McLaggen proclaimed. “He wouldn’t even come with us to the alley after hearing about the break-in at Gringotts! And he’s going to be starting his seventh year at Hogwarts this term! Can you believe it?”

“Of course, he’s just a slimy Slytherin,” Higgs sneered in disgust. “So you can’t expect much bravery out of the likes of him.”

“What’s wrong with being a Slytherin?” asked Harry, remembering the unpleasant boy from Madam Malkin’s and wondering if he was what most of Slytherin House was like.

“‘ _What’s wrong with being a Slytherin_ ’,” McLaggen shouted, going quite red in the face. “Only everything! The whole House if full of dark tossers and cowards. The lot of them are always trying to sneak around and get the students in Gryffindor in trouble. And that greasy dungeon bat they have for a Head of House just lets them.”

“Eh, just leave him Cormac,” said Higgs dismissively. “He’s not even an ickle firstie yet. He’ll learn soon enough.”

And with that the pair of them headed over to the Nimbus 2000’s display, which they began circling like a pair of sharks. Harry meanwhile turned his attention to the shop’s selection of Broomstick Servicing Kits, but he could still hear the other two boys talking wildly about the new Nimbus and what they had read about it in _Which Broomstick_.

“– from naught to ninety in just under ten seconds!” McLaggen was raving.

“It is an amazing piece of craftmanship, Cormac,” Higgs replied as he stared admiringly at the Nimbus’s sleek mahogany handle and expertly trimmed tail twigs.

“Exactly! If I had a broom like that Wood would be mad not to sign me up as the new Seeker for Gryffindor,” McLaggen boasted. “Not that I couldn’t fly rings around that mess they had last term even if I were on one of the school’s dodgy old brooms.”

“And on your Cleansweep Nine you’re sure to be a shoo-in,” Higgs added. “I mean they let the Weasley twins join the team last year and they both fly the old Cleansweep Seven. Never mind Bell making the reserve team on one of the school’s old Tinderblasts.” 

Harry couldn’t help glancing up from where he had been examining a jar of Fleetwood’s High-Finish Handle Polish to look over at the two Gryffindors at this declaration to examine the supposed future Seeker dubiously. Sure, he had only ever read about the game, but he still knew that Seekers were meant to be the smallest and most agile flyers on the Quidditch pitch. McLaggen didn’t look to be much older than Harry, but he was already a lot broader and would probably continue to become even more so as he got older. So, unless he was an amazing flyer, he was probably better suited for one of the more defensive positions on the team like a Beater or maybe even Keeper.

Unfortunately, Harry’s eyes met McLaggen’s overtop the display rack and his opinion must have shown on his face because in an instance a red faced McLaggen was up in his.          

“You got something to say, _Harry_ ,” he ground out. His angry brown eyes raking over Harry hotly taking in his smaller stature and lithe swordsman build and obviously confusing it for a Seeker’s build instead. “Oh, let me guess. The ickle firstie thinks he’s going to become Gryffindor’s new Seeker. Is that it?

“Well, let me lay it on you, Harry,” he went on snidely. “First years never make the house team. Heck, they aren’t even trusted enough to bring their own broomstick to school. And even if they were allowed there is no way a little fellow like you could even hope to handle a broom like that!”

McLaggen’s shouting was enough to attract the attention of the sales wizard behind the counter, who shot him an annoyed look, but he was prevented from having to intervene as a statuesque witch with blonde corkscrew curls burst into the Quidditch shop. She was followed a moment later by another witch with flashing hazel eyes the same shape and shade as Everett Higgs’s.

“There you are,” the first witch bellowed, marching up to Cormac McLaggen and seizing him by the ear. “How dare you run off like that. And you too, Everett. Your mother and I have been having kneazles thinking some dark wizard had come along and snatched you!”

“Mum! Stop it!” McLaggen whinged, his face turning an even darker shade of red and making him look rather like a curly haired tomato. “I’m not scared of some old, dark wizard!”

Mrs. McLaggen applied a bit more force to her wayward son’s ear and began marching him towards the door; giving a rant worthy of an irate Aunt Petunia as she did so.

“You may not be worried about the lunatic that broke into Gringotts, but everybody else with a bit of sense is,” she snarled. “And if that won’t get through to you then you’d better at least be worried about what sort of punishment your father’s going to think up for behaving so irresponsibly! Why I ought to –!”

But whatever else she was going to say was cut off as she, her son, her son’s friend, and Mrs. Higgs exited the store and began making their way down the alley. Leaving behind Harry and a pimple faced sales wizard to watch them go through the shop window with bemusement.

~¤~¤~¤~

Harry didn’t see the McLaggens or the Higgses again during his stay, but he did run into Luna Lovegood again on the fifth day.

He was sitting outside Florean Fortescue’s when he spotted the silver eyed girl emerging from the ice-cream parlor with an elaborate concoction of pale green ice-cream, whipped cream and red syrup that was spotted with what appeared to be pomegranate seeds. 

He watched her for a moment over the top of the copy of _Cantrips for the Cantankerous_ he’d picked up from Flourish and Blotts earlier that morning as she cast her pale gaze about looking for an empty table. He saw her face fall as she realized that there wasn’t an empty seat to be found. Today was the busiest day Harry had seen since the break-in, after all.

It was a split-second decision that convinced Harry to call out to her.

“Hey – Luna, right? I’ve got a free seat here if you’d like it!”

A look of ill-disguised surprise crossed the girl’s face; there and gone in an instance. 

“Thank you,” she murmured as she joined him. “The alley is as crowded as always now that everyone’s reasonably sure that the thief won’t be returning.”

“It’s no problem,” Harry shrugged, then, because he couldn’t help starring at her bizarrely colored confection, asked, “is that any good?”

“Oh, yes,” said Luna with a serene smile curling at her lips. “Matcha – green tea powder, that is – with cream and pomegranate sauce is my favorite at the moment.”

“I’m a bit partial to the chocolate with cherry sauce right now myself,” Harry admitted, feeling a bit less grossed out by her sundae now that he knew it wasn’t something like spinach or something equally green and leafy giving her ice-cream its unusual coloring.

For a while they were quiet, each eating their ice-cream, then Luna looked up from her sundae and said, “You’re much more down to earth than I was expecting.”

“Really,” said Harry a bit uncomfortably. It seemed as though everyone in the wizarding world had some sort of preconceived notion about what he would be like. If he were honest, he was getting rather tired of it. “What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know,” Luna admitted honestly. “Everyone has grown up hearing the story about how you defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and then disappeared into the Muggle world … but you didn’t, did you?”

“Didn’t what?” he asked.

“Grow up in the Muggle world,” she said, peering at him intently and Harry felt as exposed as he had when Mr. Ollivander had been fitting him for his wand. “Or at least not in the way you were expected too – but it’s probably for the best that you didn’t.”

She blinked and the feeling of being a bug pinned to a bit of corkboard ceased.

“So…” began Harry searching for something to say. “I guess you’ve grown up in the wizarding world then?”

“Yes,” said Luna simply.

“Do you know any magic yet?” he asked eagerly.

“Not much. Just a few simple cantrips and a bit of herbology so I can help take care of the dirigible plum tree in the front garden,” she replied. “My mum knew a lot about magic though. She was recruited by the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic right out of school.”

“Was?” Harry asked, then mentally gave himself a smack. He’d always hated it when people commented on his use of the past tense whenever he talked about his parents and now here he was doing the same thing.

Luna, however, didn’t appear bothered by the question.

“Yes,” she said softly. “My mum was quite an extraordinary witch, but she did like to experiment, then one day one of her spells went badly wrong. I was nine.”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry, hoping she didn’t misinterpret his words as pity.

“Yes, it was rather horrible,” she went on conversationally. “I still feel very sad about it sometimes. But, I’ve still got Daddy and my grandfather and they try their best.”

“What does your father do?” Harry asked, curious about what a wizard that didn’t have the Moira determining their future would do once they finished school.

“Daddy’s the editor of _The Quibbler_ ,” she said, sounding a touch defensive for some reason. “He travels a lot to do interviews and such for articles. It’s why I’m staying with Grandfather this summer.”

Harry nodded in understanding. He knew all too well what it was like to be passed off to another relation while your main caregiver had to go abroad for work. Still, something niggled at him.

“ _The Quibbler_ … that’s that magazine you were reading while I was getting my wand wasn’t it?”

Luna nodded, then leaned down, reached into her bag and pulled out the magazine she had been reading the day before.

“Do you mind if I see it?” Harry asked.

She looked a bit reluctant but slid it across the table to him anyway.

Harry looked over the brightly colored cover for a moment before opening the magazine and scanning the table of contents. Listed were articles with titles such as:

 

**Curse of the Chudley Cannons:**

****How the Cannons Have Been Reduced to the Losers We Know Now** **

****** **

**Merlin Sighting at Stonhenge!**

**Cornelius Fudge: Incompetent or Corrupt?**

**Crumple-Horned Snorkack: Illegal Crossbreed or New Species?**

**Lunar Restaurant: Patrons Say It Has No Atmosphere!**

 

Intrigued, Harry flicked through the magazine to the article on the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. The article was illustrated with a fairly bad cartoon of someone who was probably supposed to be Minister Fudge. The illustrated face was split down the middle with half of it sneering sinisterly and half of it a picture of befuddlement. The article read:

 

_Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, who was elected earlier this year, is nearly as famous for his lime colored bowler as he is for his questionable approach to policy. While Fudge’s platform has always been that he wants nothing more for the wizarding community than “our continued prosperity.”_

__BUT DOES HE?_ _

__Since taking office, we have seen a concerning rise in Anti-Muggle sentiment; the largest since You-Know Who began gathering followers twenty-six years ago. About which, Minister Fudge is apparently doing nothing._ _

_Furthermore, sources close to the Minister have recently disclosed that Fudge is not above taking bribes from rumored Death Eaters._

__“ _ _It happens all the time,” said a Ministry insider. “If you could hear him when he thinks no one’s listening, he’s always talking about the Galleons that have been used to grease his palms…”___ _

 

The article went on for quite a bit after this, but Harry only skimmed the rest. Taking note that apparently Minister Fudge was keeping his opposition in control through a mixture of blackmail and political hostages being held in Azkaban Prison who would receive the Dementor’s Kiss if their family members ever stepped out of line.

 _Well that escalated quickly_ , Harry thought as he flicked through the rest of the magazine, pausing ever few pages to read a few lines.

There was an interesting tidbit about how the Chudley Cannons Quidditch Team had been reduced to their place as dead last in the league through a conspiracy of illegal broom-tampering and torture. Then there was another article about a sighting of the famous wizarding figure, Merlin, complete with a fuzzy and indistinct photograph.

“Cool,” said Harry returning the magazine to Luna who tucked it away carefully in her bag.

“You don’t think it’s rubbish then?” Luna probed, a thread of steel entering her normally misty tone.

“Why would I,” Harry queried. “I mean just look at the Muggles, they’ve got no clue at all about the magical world and the things in it … I mean they blame UFOs for people being abducted by the Fae … So who’s to say that there aren’t things out there such as Crumple-Horned Snorkacks somewhere and only a few people have seen them … And everyone knows Merlin was rumored to have be immortal – how else is he supposed to watch over King Arthur’s resting place until it’s time for him to return.”

The smile that spread across Luna’s face was positively blinding. 

~¤~¤~¤~

Apparently not dismissing a person’s father’s tabloid magazine as outright rubbish earned you not only their eternal friendship but also their insider knowledge of all the best little out of the way places on Diagon Alley. This was never made more apparent than when Harry emerged from his room at the Leaky Cauldron the next morning to find Luna Lovegood waiting for him on the other side of the door.

She wasn’t dressed in robes, but rather a pair of faded dungarees and an emerald green blouse with seven-pointed stars embroidered along the collar and cuffs instead. A macramé purse with elaborate beadwork hung off one shoulder while her wand was twisted up in her ash blonde hair like a hairpin.

“Hello Harry, you’re running a bit behind this morning,” she greeted serenely, while Harry was left floundering. 

“Uh, I know I am,” he remarked, wondering how _she_ had known he had intended to be up half an hour before. “I accidentally overslept,” he added.

Luna merely nodded knowingly.

“The Tea Leave and Thyme Tearoom does elevenses quite well if you’re feeling peckish,” she confided. “Though I would avoid the sugared butterfly wings if I were you. They were approaching the end of their shelf life the last time I was there.” And before he knew what was happening, Harry found himself being led off to one of the side streets of Diagon Alley – Horizont Alley – by Luna Lovegood. 

The tearoom was located just past Stowe and Packers Magical Bags and directly opposite an eccentrically-spouting fountain, which had the water jetting from the ears of its statue, which was of a wizard wearing what appeared to be a jelly-fish in place of a hat.

“That’s Uric the Oddball,” said Luna informatively, pointing at the fountain as they approached it. “He once attempted to prove that the song of the Fwooper was beneficial to the listener, but after listening to one for three solid months he showed up to the Wizards’ Council wearing nothing but a toupee that ended up being a dead badger instead when he went to present his findings.”

“Huh,” was all Harry could say as Luna then tugged him over to the tearoom and led him inside.

Tea Leaves and Thyme seemed to be a comfortable sort of place was Harry’s first thought as he surveyed the tearoom’s main sitting area which was decorated in muted hues of earth brown and sea green with a dozen or so small circular tables scattered in the free spaces between the seven wooden pillars that ran the length of the room.

However, it was only once they were seated by one of these pillars that Harry saw what the true treasure of Tea Leaves and Thyme was, because each of the seven wooden pillars had been elaborately carved with scenes from _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and other wizarding children’s stories. Their pillar in particular depicted an old favorite of Harry’s _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_.

While they enjoyed their tea and sandwiches (ham and brie with slices of green apple for Harry and tomato and cheddar with watercress for Luna) Harry discovered that the young witch was actually quite easy to talk to for all that he had found her quite odd on their first meeting. He found himself telling her about what it was like living on the ait, while she told him all about her wizarding neighbors in Ottery St. Catchpole.

“There’s three other magical families in my village,” she told him. “The Fawcetts who have a pair of daughters who are attending Hogwarts, Sorrell and Sabra. Then there are the Diggorys who have son, Cedric, who will be starting his third year in September. And finally, there are Daddy and I’s closes neighbors the Weasleys who have seven children – the oldest two have already graduated and their youngest son should be beginning this year too. Their only daughter Ginny and I have been playmates since we were in nappies, but she’s a year younger than me so we won’t be starting school together….

“Although,” she added softly. “Daddy did consider keeping me home an extra year – after what happened with Mum, you know…? But then Daddy’s aunt, Carmenta, wrote saying that she’d Seen me beginning this year and so I am.”

“‘ _Seen_ ’,” Harry queried, as the seven-pointed stars on Luna’s blouse took on new meaning.

“Yes,” said Luna serenely (though Harry thought he could hear a touch of pride in her voice as well). “She’s a Child of the Clayr – the same as me.”

 _Well_ , Harry thought. _Luna being of the Blood – possibly on both sides of her family if Mr. Ollivander was anything to go by – certainly explains a few things_. 

~¤~¤~¤~

Over the next couple days Luna set about showing Harry her favorite shops on both Diagon and Horizont Alley. 

On Diagon Alley they visited Noltie’s Botanical Novelties where they saw Wardian Cases of Giggle Flowers and Shrinking Violets; pots overflowing with the gently swaying tendrils of flitterblooms and cobra lilies; and sacks of bulbs and seed packets lining the walls just waiting to be planted.

While Harry was holding his nose and examining sacks of mooncalf and dragon dung-based fertilizers, Luna was busy purchasing a potted plant made up of a rather unimpressive looking array of tube-like blue-green leaves.

“A new gurdyroot for Daddy,” Luna explained as she paid for the plant. “He likes an infusion in the mornings with breakfast and the eelworms got into our last crop.”

Then in Gambol and Japes they examined Ever-Bashing Boomerangs, trick wands that turned into root vegetables when waved, nose-biting teacups, and screaming yo-yos.

“I think I’d drive myself mad playing with one of those never mind Grandad,” Harry shouted over the ringing in his ears as he returned the shrieking toy back to its shelf.

On Horizont Alley they visited Taliesin’s Crystal Shop, which boasted a selection of Seeing Crystals that had been hewn from the Crystal Cave itself (one hundred and fifty galleons a piece for one the size of a child’s fist), which were kept under warded lock and key behind the counter.

“An awoken Clayr can See more in frozen water,” Luna had murmured dismissively, before dragging him over to the shop’s display of Sorcerer’s Chimes – totems of healing that looked a lot like a wind chime that had been crafted of rune imbued crystals.

Of which Harry bought a small one of malachite and smoky quartz that Luna said was guaranteed to help keep wrackspurts away – whatever those were.

It was in Concordia and Plunket’s Music shop that Harry was able to show off a bit. After all, all necromancers had to be at least a bit musical and as the Abhorsen-in-Waiting Harry was no different. His grandad had taught him how to whistle, to hum, and to sing in a variety of methods that would serve him as a weapon of last recourse if he ever found himself drawn into Death without his panpipes, or some other magical instrument.

In the music shop, however, Harry limited himself to conjuring up a small whirlwind with a whistle made of alder wood. Impressing both the sales witch and Luna with the display.

After which the pair of them spent the rest of their evening sampling selections from albums by Celestina Warbeck the Singing Sorceress, Stubby Boardman and the Hobgoblins, and a new up and coming band, the Weird Sisters.

~¤~¤~¤~

It was just past noon on the Eighth of August that Harry’s grandad arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. A week and a day since Harry’s own arrival.

Harry had spent his morning with Luna drifting through the dusty shelves of a second-hand bookshop; skimming through the pages of books like _Why I Didn’t Die When the Augurey Cried_ and _The Decline of Pagan Magic_ while Luna made odd clicking noises and whistles under her breath as she all but devoured a book on mermaids by Dylan Marwood.

It was around lunchtime when they finally emerged into the sunlight and began making their way towards the fountain of Ulric the Oddball. Luna with a new book tucked under her arm and Harry with a sneeze that knocked his glasses askew.

“We ought to try Pandora’s Bread Box,” Harry sniffed as his sun induced sneezing ended. “I overheard someone outside the apothecary say that their gyros are brilliant.”

But Luna didn’t appear to be listening. Instead she was staring into the water in the fountain’s basin with a peculiar look on her face.

Just as Harry was about to tap her on the shoulder to get her attention she blinked, looked up from the water and said, “We should head back to the Leaky Cauldron. There’s someone waiting for you.”

That someone turned out to be Harry’s grandad. Luna had Seen him walking into the pub in the reflection of the water.

The older wizard was not dressed in his dragon-hide armor or surcoat, but instead was wearing his usual garb of a natural wool Aran jumper and sturdy trousers with his large grey greatcoat over top it all. The only allusion to his office as the current Abhorsen was a blue enamel pin on his lapel that sported a pair of crossed silver keys.

To Harry’s eyes his grandad looked a bit pale as though he’d spent a fair amount of his time abroad wandering paths far from sunlight, but otherwise seemed to be in good spirits as he swept his grandson into a tight hug the moment he saw him.

Upon his release Harry was quick to do three things: first he asked his grandad how he was and how his trip had been (“Well enough and very long.”); then he introduced Luna (“Wonderful to meet you … Garrick has mentioned you in his letters…”); and finally, he returned the moonstone ring, which subtly grew in size so that it would fit upon his grandad’s larger finger.

“How has Fea been while I was a way,” Grandad asked as he slipped the moonstone ring on to the ring finger of his right hand. If he felt the same rush of magic Harry had when he’d first put the ring on he showed no sign.

“Well she tried to eat Aunt Petunia out of house and home and now she’s attempting to work her way through Tom’s larder as well even though we both know that she only eats because she likes the taste and not because she actually needs to,” Harry reported with a grin.

~¤~¤~¤~

Dinner that night was a grand affair with Grandad renting out one of the Leaky Cauldron’s private parlors so that they could celebrate Harry’s belated birthday with style. In attendance were of course: Harry, his grandad, Fea, Luna and Mr. Ollivander, who was escorting his granddaughter. 

Mr. Ollivander was blessedly less intense outside the confines of his wand shop even if his need to blink had not increased a bit. He had greeted Harry’s grandad with cry of: “Ah, Aster – cypress, twelve and a quarter inches and with the mane-hair of a particularly stout-hearted unicorn that attempted to gore my father when he attempted to harvest it. I’m pleased to see the two of you still traveling together.” 

To Harry’s surprise his grandfather and Mr. Ollivander had apparently attended Hogwarts together; though Mr. Ollivander had been a couple of years ahead of him. 

“– however,” Mr. Ollivander went on. “I was in the same year as your grandmother, Dorea Black – lovely woman. Her wand was one of my grandfather’s creations – red oak with thunderbird feather at its core. Frightfully powerful when used for transfiguration. And its brother went to your father….”

Talk of wands tapered off as they tucked into their dinner and over the course of the evening they managed to eat their way through a delicious four course meal. It began with a wild mushroom soup and salad of spinach and goat cheese; followed a main course of lamb chops with mint and raspberry sauce; and ending with a sumptuous pudding of treacle tart with clotted cream.

Afterwards, while Mr. Ollivander nursed a smoking tumbler of firewhiskey and Grandad and Luna sipped cups of chamomile tea, Harry set about opening his presents.

From Mr. Ollivander he received a wand holster of black dragon-hide that could be fitted to his belt.

“Proper wand care begins with a holster,” Mr. Ollivander informed him. “Plus you won’t have to worry about blowing your buttocks off keeping it in your back pocket.”

Harry almost laughed at the thought, but upon the seeing the serious expressions on the others faces thought better of it. Instead he thanked Mr. Ollivander for his gift and promised to put it to good use.

From Luna he received a copy of _Surviving the Dungeon: A Compendium of Common Potions Ingredients and Their Uses_ by H. B. Prince, which she enigmatically informed him will be very handy in the coming year.

To Harry’s further confusion Grandad took one look at the book’s cover before bursting out laughing.

It was while wiping tears of mirth from his eyes that his grandad passed him a slim, rectangular box wrapped blue paper. It’s surprisingly heavy when Harry’s picks it up, but the reason why becomes obvious when he unwrapped it.

Inside is a familiar dagger and a single knut. Harry immediately returns the knut to his grandad and lifts the dagger from the box. It’s silver-steel blade that Harry knows is awash with sigils of breaking and unbinding is covered by a new sheath of black dragon-hide, but it’s the dull, cabochon cut emerald set into the pommel that assures Harry that this is his grandfather’s dagger.

“Your mother entrusted it to me many years ago,” Grandad informs him gently. His powerful voice rolling like distant thunder. “And I think it’s time that it was passed on to you, Harry.”

~¤~¤~¤~

It wasn’t until later. After Luna and Mr. Ollivander had left and Harry and his grandad had gone upstairs for the night that Harry thought of something that had been nagging him at the edge of his mind during his entire stay at the Leaky Cauldron.

“Hey Grandad,” he began, searching for the proper way of phrasing his question, but in the end, he just asked, “Who is Albus Dumbledore?”

His grandad looked up from where he had been stoking up the fire behind the grate. A pensive expression on his face. 

“He’s the current headmaster at Hogwarts,” the older wizard replied.

“What more than that?” Harry asked.

After all, no mere headmaster could have ordered him placed on his aunt’s doorstep or set people to watch him over the years. And it had been years he’d realized once he’d had a chance to think about it. Aside from Dedalus Diggle in his violet colored top hat there had been a wild-looking old woman dressed entirely in green who had bowed to him once in a shop in Little Whinging and then there was the man in black he had seen on occasion whenever he and his Grandad visited the Cokeworth side of the river. He remembered that both the woman in green and the man in black had watched him closely; though the latter had always seemed to vanish if Harry’s Grandad was around.

“What makes you think there’s more to the man than that,” Grandad countered and Harry told him about what he had learned from Hagrid and Aunt Petunia. About how he had been left on the doorstep of number four Privet Drive and how Dumbledore had sent the “Old Crowd” to check up on him. 

Grandad hummed for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. He drew his cypress wand from within his greatcoat, swung it in a wide arch above his head like a lasso and said, “ _Impermeus_.”

There was a brief flash and suddenly the door and the window, as well as the fire place and even the mirror were coated in a clingfilm-like layer of shimmering spell-light that didn’t seem as though it were going to dissipate anytime soon. 

“Imperturbable Charm,” Grandad explained. “Quite useful for when you don’t wish to be overheard.”

“And we don’t want to be overhead, why?” Harry questioned as his grandad set his wand aside.

“Because Dumbledore has eyes and ears everywhere, Fledgling,” Fea croaked down at him from her place atop the wardrobe. “I wouldn’t even hold a conversation in front of one of his Chocolate Frog Cards if I wanted to keep it secret.”

“What I’m about to tell you isn’t widely known, Harry,” Grandad informed him, moving to sit at the foot of the bed, then motioning for Harry to take a seat as well.

“Aside from his position as Headmaster at Hogwarts, Dumbledore holds three more positions of power in the wizarding world but only two of them are known,” his grandad explained, “The first is that of Chief Warlock, the person that presides over the Wizengamot, the Wizarding High Court in Britain. While the second is that of Supreme Mugwump, which is the head of the Wizards Council – the Wizards Council being the ruling body of the International Confederation of Wizards…”

 _That_ , thought Harry, _is a lot of power for one person to have…._

He knew that as the current Abhorsen his Grandad held one of the other seven seats on the Wizards Council, but he hadn’t known any of the council members by name – only by title.

“Is he going to run for Minster for Magic next,” he wondered aloud, only half joking.

Grandad shook his head.

“If you ask Dumbledore he’ll say he’s content with his position as Hogwarts’s Headmaster,” he replied neutrally, but Fea scoffed. (“As if holding the central seat of power for the genius loci of Hogwarts Castle is a trifling matter,” she rasped, Saraneth chiming lowly at her ankle.) Grandad seemed to ignore her, but Harry filed the information away for later.

“However, it is Dumbledore’s relatively unknown position as the Leader of the Order of the Phoenix that enables him to contract other members of the Order – his ‘Old Crowd’ – to check up on you every now and again, Harry,” Grandad went on.

“Did you know about them, then,” Harry questioned and an almost pained look crossed his grandad’s face.

“Yes, but Severus (your man in black) is the only one I’ve ever had much contact with,” he said. “They’re a necessary annoyance. They report back to Dumbledore that you’re well and whole and he buggers off about the fact that the Boy Who Lived is being raised as the Abhorsen-in-Waiting … something that he tried very hard to prevent when he attempted to place you with Petunia.”

“ _What?_ ” Harry exclaimed. “But why?”

A sardonic grin spread across his grandad’s face, his green eyes appearing suddenly very tired and very old.

“That is something I’ve never quite known,” he admitted. “Perhaps it is because he knows how the wizarding world views our line as something to be feared – a necessary evil at best and little better than those we oppose at worse – and he wished to spare you that… Or perhaps he had his own plans for you and I threw a gremlin into the works when I claimed you … I don’t really know….

“What I do know,” he went on. “Is that Dumbledore is a schemer and a planner who will sacrifice almost anything for what he believes to be the greater good of the wizarding world. He isn’t an evil man, Harry, but a very driven one. And it is always best to be wary of being drawn into his schemes if he ever takes an interest in you….”

As he turned into bed that night Harry was left wondering about the grubby little package that been removed from Gringotts on Dumbledore’s orders and the fact that he had been allowed to know of its existence at all. Was he already caught up in one of Dumbledore’s plots? And if so – to what end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I decided to change Luna's age by a year. In my defense J.K. Rowling never gave us a concrete date for her birthday until after all the books were written and I thought it was well within the realm of possibility that Xenophilius decided to hold Luna back a year because of the trauma of having seen her mom die.
> 
> Other characters whose age I've messed with are Charlie Weasley and Mr. Ollivander. Charlie I've made a year older as well, because it give a bit more time for the whole "we haven't won the quidditch cup since he's left" thing. And as for Mr. Ollivander it's because I read the year wrong on the Harry Potter wiki page and I'd already built up the back story of him and Harry's grandad being at Hogwarts around the same time before I went back and spotted my mistake.
> 
> In other news things seem to be returning to normal around here (*knock on wood*) so the next chapter should be up sometime within the next month. As always comments are welcome.


	6. The Journey from Platform Nine and Three-quarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick reminder that there is now new content at the end of chapter five.

The remaining three weeks of Harry’s summer was spent back on Abhorsen’s Ait with the lion’s share of his time occupied with he and his grandad doing one thing or another together.

On their very first evening back Harry got a taste of what his cousin, Dudley, had gone through the day he had returned from London with his new school uniform. Unlike Aunt Petunia, Grandad had been mercifully dry-eyed as he snapped photographs of Harry standing in full uniform in front of the fireplace in his study, but there had been a proud gleam in his eyes nevertheless.

“Third generation in a row to attend Hogwarts,” he remarked with a mystified shake of the head. “You mother loved it there, but my parents only sent me to Hogwarts because it wasn’t safe for anyone who knew about the Relics of Death to attend Grindelwald’s old alma mater…. Of course, with Karkaroff as Headmaster now – banning Muggle-borns and the like – there was no way I could let you attend either.” 

“You mean Durmstrang, right? Didn’t Great Grand-Uncle Oleander go there?” Harry asked.

“Mhm,” Grandad hummed in agreement. “My mum, as well. And the way she told it Uncle Oleander was the reason Ol’ Gellert Grindelwald was expelled, too.”

“What happened?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.

For a moment, Grandad stared into the middle distance, gathering his thoughts, then finally he said, “It’s a long story, but it’s one you need to know.”

“You need to understand that Grindelwald was obsessed with the Deathly Hallows – better known to our family as the Relics of Death,” he explained. “When he learned that Oleander was Abhorsen-in-Waiting Grindelwald immediately set about trying to gain his confidence in the hopes that Oleander could lead him to the Relics – which was of course impossible since the Relics had been stolen from our family almost seven hundred years ago at that point. Rumors of the location of the Cloak of Invisibility and Resurrection Stone have always been scant at best…. Lachesis’s Rod has been used to carve a bloody swath through history after it was stolen, but it changes hands too quickly among those who don’t carry the Blood that it too is almost impossible to track – especially if its current wielder is ignorant of what they possess or just crafty enough to keep their mouth shut about their wand’s unique properties….

“None of this mattered to Grindelwald though,” Grandad stressed, “He wanted the Relics and even at sixteen he was willing to do _anything_ to use my uncle to obtain the power he craved….”

All this talk of how the Living could be as much a danger to them as the Dead gave rise to several extra hours of them training together in the salle after that. 

Grandad running him through not only his mock battles with the training dummy, but also a refresher on the different grips to use with his new dagger – a forward grip for when more finesse and a longer reach were needed and a reverse grip for when it was better to use brute force – but also best places on a living body to use it. 

“If you can avoid it never stab directly at the heart, because unless the blade is thin enough and your aim is sure – the blade will go skittering off of the ribs. Therefore, it’s best to go in under the ribs and up through the diaphragm to pierce the heart,” he explained, demonstrating the maneuver, then motioning for Harry to try it as well.

“Oh and try your best not to use any of this on the Hogwarts Castle ghosts,” his grandad added, almost as an afterthought. “The spells on your blade do mean that it can be used on the Dead who lack a physical form, but the majority of the Hogwarts ghosts had their earthly remains interred in the castle’s crypt so that their spirits could be woven into the castle’s wards. Even the few who aren’t only feed on the ambient magic of the nexus Hogwarts sits upon, so none of them go looking for Life to feed upon.”

The pair of them also worked together on Harry’s spellcasting, too.

“All evocation – which is your most basic sort of flashy magic – is a three-step process,” Grandad explained. “It involves first gathering energy, then shaping it with your thoughts and feelings – a process that is made easier with words and sigils of power to use as a focus – and then, finally, you release the energy in the intended direction.”

The majority of the time, however, he only ran Harry through his paces by having him practice the General Counter Spell, which would counteract most low-level Charms, and the Reversal Spell for undoing simple Transfigurations.

“It’s always good to know how to undo things when starting out,” he said simply. “Other things will come later, but for now a firm foundation is best.” He did, however, concluded the lesson by teaching him a rather mundane, but extremely useful Ink Blotting Spell that would come in very handy whilst doing homework.

At the moment, however, Harry tended to put the spell to use more whenever he finished writing one of his letters to Luna. The pair of them had taken to writing each other at least twice a week with Luna’s letters arriving at first in the talons of her grandfather’s dark-eyed brown owl, then later – once she had returned home to Ottery St. Catchpole – in the talons of the family owl, Herne, who possessed a set of particularly prominent ear tufts.

Harry didn’t discuss his training with her, but his summer was hardly all work and no play, so he still had plenty of things to write to her about. While she wrote about going fishing for plimpies in the Otter River and her latest craft project, Harry wrote about the latest spell he’d read about and of flying hither and yon on his Scarlet Falcon. Explaining that his only restrictions, as always, were that he didn’t fly above the tops of the trees and that he please try to refrain from giving his grandad a heart attack while practicing his dives, thank you very much. 

~¤~¤~¤~ 

The morning of September the first dawned early for the inhabitants of Abhorsen’s Ait. Harry woke at five o’clock and was far too excited and nervous to go back to sleep. He got up and dressed in the Muggle-ish parts of his new uniform: black slacks, a white shirt with a grey jumper over top it and a black tie knotted neatly at his throat. He figured he could pull on his long black robes and don his pointed hat once he was on the train. He’d even managed to marginally tame his hair by coating his comb with a healthy helping of Sleekeazy’s, which left it curling about his ears in gentle waves rather than sticking up in every direction in a flyaway mess.

His new do left Hedwig staring at his head in a bemused fashion when he shut the snowy owl into her travel cage, but he paid her no mind as he set about double checking his Hogwarts list to make sure that he had everything he’d need packed into his trunk. He had only finished adding a few of his non-magical novels and a deck of Exploding Snap cards to his trunk when Pell-Mell popped in to let him know that breakfast was ready. 

They all dined on eggy bread with a side of streaky bacon and grilled tomatoes before leaving Abhorsen’s Ait to begin the arduous journey to King’s Cross. It began with them crossing the river into Midsomer Mallow where they caught a cab to the train station in Causton, then from there it was an hour-long ride into London. All the while they attracted curious looks from their fellow commuters for the raven perched upon Grandad’s shoulder and the snowy owl dozing in her cage upon Harry’s lap.

They finally reached King’s Cross at half past ten. And as they were weaving their way through the crowded station, Harry couldn’t help noticing the plastic platform numbers, and was struck by the sudden realization that he had never actually asked just how they were to get to the platform that his ticket said was where the school train would leave from.

“Er – Grandad how exactly are we supposed to get onto the platform,” he asked as they came to a stop in front of the barrier that separated platforms nine and ten with platform nine and three-quarter clearly being nowhere in sight. He wondered briefly if you were supposed to tap one of the bricks on the barrier like you had to do to get into Diagon Alley but dismissed this at once. Summoning an archway in the middle of a busy muggle train station hardly seemed like a good way to keep the wizarding world a secret. 

“Don’t worry, Harry. It’s actually quite simple,” Grandad said gently. “All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between the platforms. There is a gateway there that’s covered by an illusion to keep the muggles out that leads straight to platform nine and three-quarters.”

Harry shot his grandad a look of disbelief, but the older wizard just chuckled good naturedly. A bit of mischief glinting in his green eyes as he added, “Don’t believe me? How about you watch them, and you’ll see for yourself.”

‘Them’ turned out to be a family of six, each with the same flaming red hair, that had just come bustling up to the barrier through the crowded station.

“It’s the same every year. Packed with Muggles, of course. C’mon…,” grumbled the plump, matronly looking woman as she led her brood of five (four boys and a single girl) up to the barrier. Each of her boys were pushing a trolley with a heavy trunk atop it – one even had a screech owl in a travel cage balanced atop his.

“All right, Percy, you go first,” urged the woman as she motioned for what looked like the oldest of the boys – the one with the owl – to approach the barrier.

Harry watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it, as the boy strode towards the barrier, then – without any warning – he seemed to vanish into thin air the second before he would have collided with it.

“Fred, you next,” barked the plump woman, motioning to one member of a pair of identical twins that stood beside her.

“I’m not Fred, I’m George,” said the boy pulling a face.

“Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother,” the boy’s twin chimed in. “Can’t you _tell_ I’m Fred?”

“Sorry, George, dear,” the woman murmured contritely only for the pair of them to share identical grins of pure mischief.

“I’m only joking. I am Fred,” the first boy exclaimed, and then the pair of them were off like a shot. Loping forward towards the barrier, then disappearing out of sight.

The red-haired woman cast her eyes heavenward, then turned her attention to her final son. 

“Now, Ron,” she said. “Remember all you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Best to do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on now, Ginny and I will be right behind you.”

Looking a bit green beneath his freckles the final boy broke into a sprint with his trolley and then he too was out of sight and through the barrier. He was followed a moment later by his mum and little sister who also disappeared through the barrier; though they did it at a bit of a light jog.

“Our turn,” said Grandad bracingly, then, running side by side, they began to push Harry’s trolley forward with gathering speed.

As they reached the barrier, Harry winced and closed his eyes, but no collision came. Instead he felt a cool sensation as though he had passed through a thin curtain of mist which prompted him to open his eyes. 

There before him was a scarlet steam engine waiting next to a platform that was packed with people. A sign overhead it said Hogwarts Express, eleven o’clock. Harry glanced behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words _Platform Nine and Tree-Quarters_ on it. 

“I wonder if Luna’s already here?” Harry wondered as smoke from the engine drifted across the crowd making everything seem hazy and indistinct.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find her,” said Grandad reassuringly as they pushed their way into the chattering crowd and past the red-haired family.

“But why can’t I go,” the daughter of the red-haired woman was now whinging to her mother, who said quite patiently, “Because you’re not old enough, dear.”

As they made their way through the crowd they had to dodge cats of every color, who were twining their way about the legs of their humans. Meanwhile, owls of a variety of species were hooting to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks as they were loaded onto the train.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the windows to talk to their families, some fighting over seats, but none of them Luna. 

“Let’s try the other end of the train,” Grandad suggested, and they set off down the platform. As they went they passed a variety of people seemed to immerge suddenly from within the train’s vapor. 

They passed a round-faced boy who saying quite forlornly, “Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.” 

Only to hear the old woman sigh, “Oh, _Neville_.” 

“The Dowager Lady Longbottom and her grandson,” Grandad informed Harry once they were out of earshot.

Then they passed a boy with dreadlocks who was surrounded by a small crowd. 

“Give us a look, Lee,” one of them urged. “Go on.”

The boy, Lee, did as prompted and the people surrounding him began to shriek and yell as something inside the box he was holding poked out a long, hairy leg. 

“I didn’t think tarantulas were allowed,” Harry mused to himself as they pressed on through the crowd until finally – near the end of the train – they found her.

“Hey, Luna,” Harry called, and Luna, who was already wearing her new uniform – robes and all – beamed at him.

“Hello, Harry, I almost didn’t recognize you on account of the hair,” she greeted cheerfully, then in a murmur so as not to be over heard, she added, “Hello, Lord Abhorsen.”

“Miss Luna,” Grandad returned genially.

“The Weasley twins – Fred and George – were helping me with my trunk when I spotted you,” Luna informed them. “I can show you which compartment I’m in … that is, if you want to share…?” 

“Of course,” Harry agreed quickly. “Would you mind carrying Hedwig while Grandad and I get my trunk?”

Luna nodded, plucked Hedwig’s cage from atop Harry’s trunk, earning her a hoot of greeting from the owl, and set off down the corridor. Meanwhile, Harry and his grandad set about heaving Harry’s trunk aboard the train and carrying it towards the blonde’s compartment.

Inside the compartment Harry spotted the red-haired twins from earlier heaving a trunk quite similar to Harry’s own into the luggage rack.

“I didn’t know you had an owl, Luna,” said one of the twins as the blonde girl set Hedwig’s cage onto an empty seat.

“Oh, I don’t,” Luna said dreamily. “Hedwig is Harry’s owl.”

“ _Harry?_ ” asked the other twin, looking around. “Harry _who_?”

“Erm, that would be me,” said Harry giving them an awkward little smile as he and his grandad finished shifting the trunk into the compartment.

The twins both twisted around to give him a once over and Harry could see the exact moment when the second twin spotted the lightning bolt scar on Harry’s forehead from where it peeked through his tidy fringe. 

“What’s that?” he said, pointing at the scar.

“What’s _what_?” asked the other twin, but then he saw it too and goggled. “Blimey, are you –?”

“He _is_ ,” said the twin who’d originally spotted his scar. “Aren’t you?” he added quickly to Harry.

“Um, yes,” said Harry, knowing it would do him no good to deny it.

“ _Wow_ ,” chorused the twins as they gawked at him.

Harry could feel the warmth of a blush staining his cheeks as the moment was _not_ improved in the least by Fea’s croaking cackle of laugher at his expense. 

“Hang on,” said the second twin, his brown eyes flicking from Harry to Luna and back again. “How does Harry Potter know our Luna?”

“We met while I was staying with Grandfather over the summer,” said Luna as she claimed a seat by the window. 

“And you didn’t tell, Gin-Gin?” crowed the first twin, his face aglow with wicked mirth.

“No,” said Luna simply. “Ginny would have never forgiven me for meeting Harry first.” She turned her head and her pale grey eyes met Harry’s green. “She’s fancied you for years after all,” she added, and Harry felt his face burn.

To Harry’s immense relief the voice of the twins’ mother came drifting in through the train’s open door. 

“Fred? George?” she called. “Are you there!”

“Coming, Mum,” they chorused, then with one last look at Harry, they disappeared down the train corridor.

“Such a lively pair,” Grandad chuckled as he finished securing Harry’s trunk in the luggage rack.

Harry hummed in agreement as he sat down opposite Luna, so that he could watch the red-haired family on the platform. Their words drifting in easily through the open window. 

Their mother had just taken out a handkerchief and was speaking to her youngest son.

“Ron,” she fretted. “You’ve got something on your nose.” 

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his long nose with her handkerchief.

“ _Mum_ – geroff,” he cried, attempting to wriggle free. 

“Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” said one of the twins.

“Shut up,” Ron groused.

“Where’s Percy,” said their mother.

“He’s coming now,” said the other twin and the oldest of the red-haired boys came striding into sight.

Like Luna, the older boy had already pulled on a set of billowing black Hogwarts robes. Unlike her, however, this boy had a shiny red-and-gold badge pinned over his heart with the letter _P_ on it.

“Can’t stay long, Mother,” said the robed boy. “I’m up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves –”

“Oh, are you a _prefect_ , Percy?” said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. “You should have said something, we had no idea.”

“Hang on, I think I _do_ remember him saying something about it,” said the other twin. “Maybe, once –”

“Or twice –”

“A minute –”

“All summer –”

“Oh, shut up,” said Percy the Prefect.

“How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” asked one of the twins and Harry noticed that the boy’s robes did seem to be both newer and in better condition than the rest of his uniform even though all of it seemed to have been smartly pressed.

“Because he’s a _prefect_ ,” said their mother fondly. “All right, dear, well, have a good term – send me an owl when you get there.”

She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

“Now, you two,” she went on sternly, “this year, you had best behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you’ve – you’ve blown up a toilet or –”

“Blown up a toilet?” questioned one of the twins bemusedly. “We’ve never blown up a toilet.”

“Great idea though, thanks, Mum,” chimed the other twin.

“It’s _not funny_ ,” she scolded, then no less firmly added, “And be sure to look after Ron.”

“Don’t worry, Ickle Ronniekins is safe with us,” the twins said in stereo.

“Shut up,” Ron grumbled again. He was almost at tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had been rubbing it.

“Hey, Mum, you know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station,” one of the twins asked suddenly. “George and I just met him on the train and you’ll never guess who he is.”

“Who,” asked their mother.

“ _Harry Potter!_ ” the boy, Fred, exclaimed.

Suddenly the sound of a girlish squeal could be heard just outside the compartment window.

“Oh, Mummy,” cried the little red-haired girl. “Can I go on the train and see him, Mum, oh please….”

“You’ve already seen him, Ginny,” the girl’s mother scolded her. “Not to mention the poor boy isn’t something you can go and goggle at like he’s a zoo exabit.” She returned her attention to her son and asked, “Is he really, Fred? How do you know?”

“George and I asked him when we saw his scar,” said Fred. “It’s really there – like lightning.”

“The _poor_ dear,” she said, and Harry felt the sudden urge to slam the window close so that he wouldn’t have to hear anymore of her pitying tone. “I do wonder who that was that he was with then…,” she added ponderously. “I didn’t think he had any wizarding family left….”

“Never mind that,” burst Fred. “Do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?”

Their mother suddenly became very stern. 

“I forbid you from asking him that, Fred,” she said coolly. “No, don’t you dare,” she added, when it looked as though he were going to protest. “As though he needs reminding of that on his first day of school.”

“All right, all right, keep your hair on,” Fred muttered contritely.

Inside the compartment Luna leaned towards Harry and said quite seriously, “Mrs. Weasley would send them a howler if they bothered you too much at school. I’m sure of it.”

“A what,” asked Harry.

“A screaming letter,” Grandad explained as he checked the time on his pocket watch. “I’ve always found them a bit distasteful, but they can certainly be used to get your point across on occasion… They explode of left unopened for too long.”

 _Yikes_ , Harry thought a he climbed to his feet. Judging by the look on his grandad’s face it was almost time for the train to leave.

As the older wizard pulled Harry into a tight hug he found himself struck by a sudden wave of nerves. He and his grandad had been away from each other for long stretches of time in the past, but nothing like this. 

“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” he asked earnestly, fingers curling deep in the fabric of the grey greatcoat.

“Every day, if you want me to,” Grandad promised.

“Maybe not _every_ day,” Harry hedged, he didn’t want his new classmates to think he was a baby or anything. “But at least twice a month…?”

“If that’s what you want,” Grandad readily agreed. “Your grandmother and I wrote to your mum at least twice week during her first year.”

“Ran me completely ragged,” Fea grouched, startling a laugh out of Harry.

A whistle sounded and Harry gave his grandad one final squeeze before releasing him. As Harry’s grandad was hopping down from the train the three Weasley boys were scrambling aboard – their mother and sister teary eyed as they waved them good-bye. Then with a lurch the train began to move and Harry went over to the compartment window so that he could watch his grandad and Fea for as long as possible as they too waved good-bye. 

He watched until the train rounded a corner and platform nine and three-quarters was whisked out of sight. And soon enough even the station was out of sight as well and there were houses flashing past the window. After a moment, Harry returned to his seat and exchanged a glance with Luna. He could tell by the gleam in her pale eyes that she too was experiencing the same well of excitement that Harry could feel bubbling up inside him. Neither of them knew what to expect – but they knew it would be an adventure. 

They had been traveling for no time at all when the compartment door slid open and the youngest red-headed boy came in. He glanced at Harry, then at Luna, and then back again.

“Do you mind?” he asked finally, pointing to the empty seat beside Harry. “Everywhere else if already full….”

Harry exchanged a quick glance with Luna, who gave a small nod to indicate that it was his choice. 

“It’s fine,” he said, and the boy sat down beside him. He still had a black mark on the end of his long nose.

It wasn’t long before Harry could feel the other boy’s eyes on him, but every time he glanced in the red-head’s direction he would quickly look away and pretend he hadn’t been staring at Harry at all.

This went on for several minutes until there was another knock at the compartment door. It was the twins once again. 

“Hey, Ron,” said one of the twins.

“Hey, Luna,” said the other, with a nod to the blonde girl, before he, too, turned his attention to his younger brother. “Listen. We’re going down to the middle of the train. Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.”

“Right,” mumbled Ron, looking suddenly quite pale.

“Oh, and Harry,” said the first twin. “I can’t remember if we introduced ourselves or not. We’re Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. Well, see you all later, then.”

“Bye,” said the trio of first years as the twins left, the last one out the door sliding it shut behind him.

“Are you really Harry Potter?” Ron blurted out the moment the door slid shut.

“Last time I checked,” Harry retorted rather bluntly.

“Oh – well, I thought it might have been one of the twins’ jokes,” said Ron, the tips of his ears going red. “Have you really got the – the … you know…?”

He pointed at Harry’s forehead. 

“The what?” Harry asked dryly. If the other boy wanted to gawk at his forehead then he was going to have to work for it.

“The scar,” Ron whispered.

“Yes,” said Harry, sliding his fringe aside to reveal the lightning scar and wondering dully if the whole of his first year was going to be people ogling his forehead.

“Wicked,” Ron breathed reverently. “So that’s where You-Know-Who –?”

But he was prevented from saying more as Luna suddenly cleared her throat meaningfully and shot him a rather jaundiced look.

“Ronald, I know for a fact that your mother would be displeased if you continued that line of questioning,” she said coolly.

Ron made a faint choking sound and quickly went back to studiously watching the empty corridor; his ears the exact same color as overcooked bacon. 

After a while, Harry decided to take pity on the other boy and asked, “So, you and your brothers are the Weasleys from Ottery St. Catchpole, then?” 

Ron turned away from the window and blinked at him, a rather bewildered look upon his face. 

“Er – yes?” he hedged. “How did you know that?”

Harry nodded in Luna’s direction and said, “We met over the summer while we were both staying on Diagon Alley. She mentioned your family when I asked about the other wizarding families that lived near her and her Dad.” 

Ron stared at the two of them in shock. 

“You were both at Diagon Alley this summer?” he asked looking between them very quickly. “Neither of you where there when Gringotts was broken into, were you?”

Both Harry and Luna nodded.

“The break-in happened the first day I was there,” Harry admitted.

“The alley was covered with Aurors and Leos for days afterwards,” Luna added.

“’Course it was!” Ron burst out. “You know as well as I do, that everyone always gets scared when something like this happens. People start worrying that it’s You-Know-Who behind it.” He gave a faint shudder, then added, “My dad says it must’ve been a powerful Dark wizard to get around one of the high security vaults at Gringotts, but according to the _Daily Prophet_ they don’t think they actually took anything, which is weird….”

“Was the culprit ever caught?” Harry asked, he hadn’t really been able to keep up with the _Daily Prophet_ once he was back on the ait.

“No,” said Luna solemnly. “Though things seemed to be getting back to normal on the alley by the time I left.” She then turned her attention to Ron. “Your oldest brother works at Gringotts, doesn’t he? Has he said anything about the break-in to you?” 

Ron shook his head. 

“If he’s written to Mum and Dad about it they haven’t mentioned it to any of us – not that that would surprise me,” he admitted. “Mum thinks we’re too young to hear about stuff like that – especially me and Ginny.”

“It must be nice having such a big family,” Harry mused aloud, but for some reason Ron looked suddenly gloomy.

“I guess,” he grimaced. “I mean I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts – tenth if you count my cousins. So, you could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. My oldest brothers, Bill and Charlie, have already left – Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was Captain of the House Quidditch team. Now Percy’s a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. So, everyone expects me to do at least as well as the others, but even if I do, it’s not a big deal, because they did it first.”

 _Yikes_ , thought Harry, wondering how he’d been invited to Ron Weasley’s personal pity party. And the other boy wasn’t done yet.

“And you never get anything new, either, with five brothers and a gaggle of cousins,” he went on. “I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Cousin Donnie’s old cauldron, Charlie’s old wand, and Percy’s old rat.”

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat from the inner pocket; it was fast asleep. 

“His name’s Scabbers and he’s useless, he hardly ever wakes up,” Ron groaned. “Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn’t aff- – I mean, I got Scabbers instead.”

Ron’s ears went pink again and he seemed to think that he’d said too much, because he went back to staring out into the corridor again. 

Harry exchanged bemused looks with Luna. He personally didn’t think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. He only had a vault full of wizarding gold because his parents had left it to him in their will and if the choice were up to him he would much rather have his parents than a pile of cold metal. He didn’t say any of this to Ron, however. 

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. The sight of it reminding Harry of the sort of countryside he’d seen on his way from Causton to London that morning.

For a while the trio was quiet.

Ron and Luna swapping seats so that the red-haired boy could watch the fields and lanes go flickering past the window. Meanwhile, Luna fished a skein of self-striping yarn in various shades of blue from within her trunk and set about working on something that involved a plethora of double pointed needles and a lot of muttering. Harry, not wishing to mindlessly stare out the window and deciding it was best not to bother Luna, retrieved his copy of _Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed_ from inside his own trunk and cracked it open to the section on the Stinging Hex.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled witch with curly gray hair slid back their door to ask them: “Anything off the trolley, dears?”

Both Harry and Luna climbed to their feet, but Ron’s ears went pink again and he muttered that his mum had packed him sandwiches.

“I’ve got a thermos of freshwater plimpy soup, but I would still like something sweet for afterwards,” said Luna as they stepped into the corridor.

“Same,” Harry agreed, but then he hurriedly back tracked. “Not about the soup – I’ve got sandwiches – but about wanting something for dessert.”

As with Sugarplum’s Sweetshop the cart was covered in all sorts of wizarding confections. There were Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkins Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands and a number of other things Harry had never seen before.

While Luna bought Licorice Wands, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum and Cauldron Cakes, Harry got a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, a selection of Chocolate Frogs and a couple of Pumpkin Pasties. Between the two of them they had bought one almost of everything on the cart for a grand total of sixteen silver Sickles and four bronze Knuts.

Ron stared as Harry and Luna brought their bounty back into the compartment and tipped the lot onto an empty seat. Then his jaw dropped as the pair of them also brought the thermos of plimpy soup, a trio of sandwiches and a couple of bottled drinks, too.

“Hungry, are you?” he remarked.

“Very much so,” said Luna, tipping something that looked disturbingly like steaming, vegetation filled pond water with bits of fish in it into the bowl-like lid of her thermos to sip on.

“A bit,” Harry replied honestly, unwrapping one of his sandwiches and peeling back the bread to see what Pell-Mell had made; chicken salad – yum! “Mostly I didn’t want to miss anything.”

Ron cast a look of longing towards the mound of sweets, then took out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. Inside were four sandwiches. He pulled one of them apart and said with disgust, “She always forgets I don’t like corned beef.” 

“I have plenty of plimpy soup, if you’d like some,” said Luna, vacantly. “Everybody always requests our recipe for Freshwater Plimpy soup.”

“Probably to show the Poisoning Department at St. Mungo’s,” Ron muttered under his breath, but Luna acted as though she hadn’t heard.

Harry barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He’d had to listen to his grandad’s horror stories about rationing during the war – not to mention some of the questionable things he’d had to scrounge up while going about his duties as Abhorsen – that were enough to make anyone thankful for the food in front of them. Even if it was Freshwater Plimpy soup.

“I’ll swap you for one of these,” said Harry, holding up one of his sandwiches. He wasn’t about to have to listen to the other boy moan about perfectly good food while he was trying to eat.

“You don’t want this, it’s all dry,” Ron protested. “I mean it’s just cause she hasn’t got much time,” he added quickly, “you know, with five of us at home.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ron. I actually like corned beef,” Harry informed him. “So go on and have one of my sandwiches. Or a pasty if you’re not a chicken salad fan either.”

Ron needed no further prompting. Immediately the red-haired boy helped himself to both a sandwich and a pasty. 

“You know that now that you’ve fed him you’re not going to be able to get rid of him,” Luna informed him in a low voice so as to not be overheard. “Unless you get sorted into Slytherin,” she added in a thoughtful sort of voice.

Harry just shrugged. It was no skin off his nose to be nice to the other boy until they reached Hogwarts. 

Once the sandwiches and soup had been devoured and their bottles of pumpkins juice and green apple fizz had been drunk; the three of them turned their attention to the mound of sweets before them. 

“What are these exactly?” Harry asked, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. “They’re not _real_ frogs, are they?” Because if he were honest nothing would surprise Harry after some of the things he’d seen exploring Diagon and Horizont Alley with Luna…The sugared butterfly wings she’d warned him not to eat at Tea Leaves and Thyme had been made of real sugar covered butterfly wings that apparently had a shelf life of just over eight hundred years!

“Don’t worry it’s just a spell,” said Luna consolingly before biting the head off of a jelly slug.

“And anyway, it’s the card you want,” Ron added, thickly through a mouthful of cauldron cake. “Each pack’s got a famous witch or wizard card inside them to collect. I’ve got about five hundred meself. Though I haven’t got Agrippa or Ptolemy.”

Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog only for the confection to try and make a break for it as it leapt straight out of his hands and out the open train window to splat of a burst of chocolate gore against a tree they were passing.

“That’s rotten luck,” said Ron commiseratively. “They’ve only got one good jump in them to begin with. But at least you’ve still got the card.”

Personally, Harry would have rather been biting the head off that escape artist of a frog, but he guessed he’d have to settle for the consolation prize. He picked up the card and flipped it over. It showed the face of an elderly looking wizard with long, flowing silver hair. Both atop his head and making up his beard and mustache. The wizard also had a long, crooked nose that looked as though someone had broken it for him at least twice and perched atop it were a pair of half-moon spectacles. Underneath the picture was the wizard’s name: Albus Dumbledore.

“So _this_ is Dumbledore,” Harry murmured, clapping eyes for the first time in a decade on the man who had dumped him on the Dursleys’ doorstep and then sent people to spy on him.

“I’ve got about six of him,” said Ron carelessly. “Do you care if I have a frog? I might get Agrippa – ?”

Harry waved at him to have at it.

“Thanks,” Ron muttered, seizing a frog for himself. 

On the back of the card was a short blurb about the person pictured on the other side of the card. Dumbledore’s read:

 

**Albus Dumbledore**

 1881 - present

_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicholas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling._

 

Harry turned the card back over and saw that Dumbledore’s face had disappeared. 

“You know I still find it a bit odd when someone goes and disappears from their photograph,” he remarked idly, watching as Dumbledore sidled back into frame on the card and looked up at him with a small smile.

“Well, you can’t expect them to hang around all day,” said Ron knowledgably. “Oh no, I’ve got Morgana again and I’ve got about six of her … do either of you want it? You both collect them, right?”

His eyes strayed back over to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped. 

“Help yourself,” Harry told him and this time he did roll his eyes.

Luna, however, was smiling mischievously.

“You know, Ron,” she chimed in, just at the red-haired boy was about to bite the head off a frog. “Harry told me that in the Muggle world people just stay put in their photographs.” 

“ _Ack_ ,” Ron choked, then once he managed to force the too large piece of chocolate down his throat, gasped. “What, you’re saying they don’t move at all? _Weird_?” 

As they worked their way through the Chocolate Frogs it became apparent that Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards. Harry, however, had quite a bit of fun looking through them as Luna told him bits of trivia that wasn’t covered in the blurb on the back. In the end, Harry wound up with the beginnings of a nice little collection since both Ron and Luna had copies of all the cards they found. He had not only Dumbledore and Morgana le Fey, but also Hengist of Woodcroft, Circe, Merlin, himself – and wasn’t that odd – and even the founder of his line, Amarantha the Unfading, whose miniature portrait stared up at him imperiously as she tucked her cloak of feathers firmly about her shoulders.

After packing away his new collection of cards, Harry opened up the bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. 

“You want to be careful with those,” Ron warned Harry. “When they say every flavor, they _mean_ every flavor – you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a bogey-flavored one once.” 

Luna gave a snort of derision.

“That’s nothing,” she declared. “Vomit, earwax, and unwashed sock – all in the same bag.”

“Ok, you win,” said Ron sounding impressed.

Even with the disgusting non-food flavors, they had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. While Harry got toast, coconut, baked bean, curry, and sardine; Ron got sprouts, popcorn, cherry, earthworm, and green apple; and Luna got candy floss, watermelon, sausage, marshmallow, rotten egg, and banana. Of the three of them only Harry was brave enough to nibble the end off of a funny looking gray one with black speckles that turned out to be pepper. 

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills. 

There was a knock at the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy Harry had passed on platform nine and three-quarters came in. He looked tearful. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “but have you seen a toad at all?”

When they shook their heads, he wailed. “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!” 

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” said Harry awkwardly.

“I suppose,” said the boy miserably.

“Have you tried asking one of the prefects for help,” Luna suggested gently. “They’re supposed to be up in the front carriage. I’m sure one of them will have a spell or something that could help you find him.”

“I suppose … as long as they don’t think it’s too much of a bother…,” the boy hedged. “Still, if you see him….”

He left. 

“Don’t know why he’s so bothered,” said Ron. “If I’d brought a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can’t talk.”

The fat gray, garden rat was still snoozing on Ron’s lap.

“Pathetic, isn’t he? He might have died and you wouldn’t know the difference,” Ron said in disgust. “I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn’t work. Want to see?”

“Sure,” said Harry, always eager to see a new bit of magic.

Luna, however, just stared as Ron got up and began rummaging around in his trunk.

“I thought you said the spell didn’t work?” she questioned.

Ron’s ears went pink, but he paid her no mind as he continued to shift things around in his trunk until he finally pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end. 

“Unicorn hair’s nearly poking out,” Ron grumbled, prodding the unicorn hair so that it wasn’t poking out nearly as far. “Anyway –”

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. 

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather prominent front teeth.

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it and to go ask the prefects for a spell to find it,” Ron informed her, but the girl wasn’t listening, she was too busy looking at the wand in his hand.

“Oh, are you doing magic?” she asked. “Well, let’s see it, then.”

Then without so much as a by your leave she sat down in the empty seat between Ron and Hedwig’s cage; leaving the red-haired boy to look rather taken back by this development.

“Er – all right,” he stammered, then cleared his throat and said:

 

“ _Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,_

_Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”_

 

He then proceeded to wave his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast sleep.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” she challenged. “Well, it’s not very good, is it? Of course, I’ve only tried a few simple ones myself, but they’ve all worked for me. I was able to fix my dad’s glasses with the Mending Charm after a couple of tries. Of course, Dad was quite surprised by this – he doesn’t have any magic at all, you see. In fact, nobody in my family’s magic at all. So, it was such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard – I’ve even learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, and you are…?”

She said all of this very fast and even more impressively without taking a breath.

“Um, Ron Weasley,” said Ron, looking a bit stunned by Hermione Granger’s drive-by exposition.

“I’m Luna Lovegood,” said Luna with a small nod.

Bracing himself, Harry said, “And I’m Harry Potter.”

“Are you really?” Hermione asked wonderingly as her brown eyes raked his hair line. “I’ve read all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ –”

“As well as _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_ and _A History of Magic_ ,” said Luna, before adding, “Though I would really only trust Bathilda Bagshot for the true version of events.”

“And why is that,” Hermione demanded, her eyes widening almost manically. “The other books seemed quite knowledgeable about the matter?”

“Bathilda Bagshot actually lives in Godric’s Hollow so she was there when it all happened,” Luna explained. “Daddy even tried to interviewed her for an article after it happened, but she turned him down. Too upsetting she said.” 

“Really, you father’s a writer,” Hermione asked, sounding very interested. 

Ron snorted. 

“If you count _The Quibbler_ as writing,” he muttered under his breath, which earned him a positively frosty look from Luna.

“He’s the editor of _The Quibbler_ ,” Luna informed the other girl. “I can get you a copy of the latest issue if you’d like?”

“Oh, that sounds lovely, thank you,” said Hermione Granger. “Do any of you know what House you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around, and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be _too_ bad…. Anyway, we’d best go so that you can finish changing – after all, I expect we’ll be arriving soon. Plus it will give Neville and I a chance to speak to the prefects about that spell you mentioned for finding his toad.”

And then, as suddenly as she had arrived, she was gone. Taking the toadless boy, Neville, along with her. 

“Whatever House I’m in, I hope she’s not in it,” Ron huffed grumpily as he stared at his wand in disgust. “Stupid spell – George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud.”

“It might not be the spell, you know,” Luna said slowly. “According to my grandfather an ash wand tends to bond strongly to their one true master and on account of that it ought not to be passed on or gifted from its original owner, because if it is it can cause the wand to lose power … this tendency is even more severe if the core of the wand is a unicorn hair … and you said the wand used to belong to your brother Charlie, so….”

“That’s just one of those old superstitions,” Ron huffed, tossing his wand back into his trunk and slamming the lid. “You know like, ‘rowan gossips, chestnut drones, ash is stubborn, and hazel moans’ or ‘wand of elder, never prosper.’ Mum’s always spouting off stuff like that, but none of its really true.”

“Says the stubborn boy with a wand of ash,” Luna remarked idly. “Though I do suppose the belief that wands of elder are unlucky isn’t necessarily true. It’s only Death’s Elder Wand that’s the unlucky one.” 

Harry couldn’t help noticing that she was looking at him as she said this.

“So, which House are either of you hoping for?” Harry asked, wishing very much to change the subject away from the powerful magical object that had been stolen from one of his ancestors in the thirteenth century, but the rest of the wizarding world thought had been a gift from Death itself.

“ _Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure_ ,” said Luna in a singsong voice, before adding quiet seriously, “Almost everyone in my family’s been in Ravenclaw.”

“Everyone in my family’s been in Gryffindor,” said Ron, a cloud of gloom descending upon him once again. “I don’t know what they’ll say if I’m not. I don’t suppose Ravenclaw _would_ be too bad, but imagine if I ended up in Slytherin.” He gave a shudder. “Where are you aiming, Harry,” he asked. “Gryffindor, right?” 

Harry just shrugged. 

“I don’t really care which House I get into,” he admitted. “My grandad was in Hufflepuff, but my parents were Gryffindors. And I think my dad’s mum was in Ravenclaw. So who knows where I’ll end up.”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” said Ron with a weary sigh as he flopped back into his seat, looking quite depressed.

“You know, I think the ends of Scabbers’s whiskers might be a bit lighter,” Harry fibbed, trying to take Ron’s mind off Houses, but to no success.

“Let me try,” Luna whispered to Harry, then in a louder tone added, “You know, Ron, Harry doesn’t have a Quidditch team.”

“What?” Ron gasped, looking quite dumbfounded. “How can you not have a team? You do know about Quidditch, right?”

“I’ve read about it,” said Harry. “But I’ve never had the chance to play. I do like flying though.”

And that was all Harry needed to say and then Ron was off. 

He walked them through an in-depth explanation of the four balls and the positions of the seven players, then he was off describing the rather intense pick-up matches he, his brothers, and his cousins played in the family’s apple orchard. He’d just begun walking them through the finer points of what a professional match was like when the compartment door slid open yet again.

This time it wasn’t Neville Longbottom or Hermione Granger. It wasn’t even the Weasley twins back from visiting their friend with the giant tarantula. Instead, it was a trio of boys. Harry recognized the one in the middle at once as the blond boy from Madam Malkin’s robe shop, but he didn’t know the other two who were flanking the blond on either side like a pair of bodyguards. He did, however, recognize their sort as they both seemed to be of the same stock his cousin Dudley chose his own friends from; big and mean looking.

“So, is it true?” the blond boy asked, staring at Harry with a lot more interest than he had before in the robe shop. “They’re saying all down the train that Harry Potter is in this compartment. So, it’s you, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Harry shortly meeting the blond’s cool blue-grey eyes coldly. “Though I feel like I should mention that this is the second time you’ve asked me for my name and yet you still haven’t offered me your own.”

The blond didn’t go red, he was far too pale to manage it, but a pink tinge that would have been bright red on anyone else spread across his face. Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a laugh. The blond glared at him. 

“My name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy,” the boy declared, before casting a contemptuous look at Ron. “There’s no need for me to ask who you are. My father’s told me all about the Weasleys and how they all have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.” 

He returned his attention to Harry and added, “You’ll soon find out that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you with that.”

He held out his hand to shake Harry’s. 

Harry thought about ignoring it, but then decided on what he hoped would be a better way of making his point. And so, quick as a striking snake, Harry seized the offered hand in a bruising grasp, then used their joined hands to reel the blond in towards him.

“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks,” he snarled coolly in the other boy’s ear before abruptly releasing him with enough force to send him staggering back into the bulk of his followers.

Draco Malfoy gave a scornful snort, but Harry couldn’t help noticing how the blond was surreptitiously flexing his fingers as though trying to regain the feeling in them.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” he retorted coldly, a pink tinge flooding his cheeks once again. “Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them, either. And we all know what happened to them in the end, don’t we.”

Harry saw red, but it was Luna, who had been over looked and dismissed completely by Malfoy, who responded.

“Get out,” she snarled, her grey eyes as cold and remote as glacier water.

“Oh, and what are you going to do if we don’t,” Malfoy scoffed. “Fight us?”

“No, but I’ll hex the lot of you unless you get out of our compartment,” Harry snarled, drawing his wand from where it was holstered at his hip and pointing the tip of the slender rod of holly in Malfoy’s general direction. “You’d probably look right fetching with a set of antlers.”

Malfoy froze momentarily at the sight of Harry’s wand, before sneering dismissively. 

“I bet you don’t even know a single spell yet,” he jeered. “So I don’t think we’ll be leaving just yet. After all, we’ve already eaten all of our food and you still seem to have some.”

Malfoy’s lacky with the mud colored eyes and shorty bristly hair reached towards the remaining sweets beside Ron, but the red-haired boy wasn’t about to let anyone mess with the food. He lunged forward, but before he could so much as touch him, the larger boy let out a horrible yell.

Scabbers the rat was hanging off of his finger, his sharp little teeth sunk deep into the boy’s knuckle – Malfoy and his lacky with the pudding bowl haircut backed away as bristly-hair swung Scabbers round and round, howling, until at last the rat went flying and hit the window with a dull _thunk_.

At once the three boys hurried out of the compartment and off down the corridor. Perhaps they thought Scabbers was part of some spell Harry had cast, or maybe they had heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor and feared it was a prefect. In any case, they were gone.

The person in the corridor wasn’t a prefect, however. It was Hermione Granger, back again. 

“What _has_ been going on?” she cried, looking at the wand in Harry’s hand, the sweets all over the floor and Ron, who was picking up Scabbers by the tail.

“Is he alright,” Luna asked, peering at the fat, gray rat intently. “He hit the window awfully hard.”

“I think he’s just been knocked out,” Ron told her. Then he looked closer at Scabbers and groaned. “No – I don’t believe it – he’s gone back to sleep!”

This surprised a twitter of laughter from Luna. 

“Where’d you know Malfoy from,” Ron asked Harry suspiciously.

Returning his wand to his holster, Harry explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley. 

“Such a rude boy,” Luna remarked. “Names are important, but we’re not Fae. So there’s no reason to go guarding his and his companions’ like a dragon with its last brass teacup. Too many dealing with the courts that family, you mark my words.” 

“I don’t know about them having any dealings with the courts, but I’ve never heard anything good about his family so it wouldn’t surprise me,” Ron muttered darkly. “The Malfoys were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. They said they’d been bewitched, but my dad doesn’t believe it. According to him ol’ Lucius Malfoy didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.” He turned to Hermione, who was still hovering in the doorway. “Can we help you with something?” he demanded. 

“It just, I’ve been up to the front with Neville – about that spell to find his toad – anyway, while we were up there I spoke to the conductor and he says that we’re nearly there, so you had best hurry up and put your robes on,” she said, still glancing every now and again at the sweets strewn across the compartment floor. “You haven’t been fighting, have you?” she asked fretfully. “You’ll be in trouble before we’ve even got there!”

“Scabbers has been fighting, not us,” said Ron, scowling at her. “And away, do you mind leaving while we change?”

“All right, no need to get shirty, I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly and racing up and down the corridors,” Hermione said in a sniffy sort of voice. “And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know? Just there –” She pointed at the side of her own nose. 

Ron glared at her as she left. Harry peered out of the window. It was getting dark. He could see mountains and a dark forest silhouetted against the deep purple sky and the train did seem to be slowing down. 

“I’ll step outside while you both change,” Luna informed them before slipping out the door and into the corridor.

While Harry pulled on his long black robes over the rest of his uniform, Ron had to change clothes entirely. His shirt and slacks were in good nick though a bit long in the arms and leg, but the elbows of his jumper had obviously been darned multiple times. Ron’s robes were also so faded that they were closer to charcoal in color that black and a bit short on him, because you could easily see the turn-ups of his trousers and his scuff toed dress shoes underneath them when he moved his arms.

As Luna rejoined them a voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogsmeade Station in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

Harry felt suddenly nauseous from nerves and Ron, he saw, looked vaguely green underneath his freckles. Even Luna seemed nervous as she began rocking from her heels to her toes and back again. Eager for something to do to take his mind off of things, Harry gave their compartment a quick once over to make sure all of their belongings were safely packed away in their trunks and that Hedwig was still secure in her travel cage.

As the train slowed to a stop the trio joined the crowd in the corridor. There, they allowed themselves to be chivvied along until it was their turn to exit the train and they found themselves standing on a tiny, dark platform.

Up ahead a lamp came bobbing out of the darkness, held high over the heads of even the tallest of the students, and then Harry heard a familiar voice calling out: “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here! All right there, Harry?”

It was Hagrid. A broad smiled curling the whiskers of his hairy face as he looked out over the sea of students.

“C’mon, follow me,” Hagrid called. “Any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!”

Slipping and stumbling, a group of forty first years followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought that there must be thick trees or a hedgerow growing there. As they walked nobody spoke. Though Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

Out in front of them all, Hagrid called over his shoulder, “Yeh’ll be getting’ yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec – jus’ round this bend here.” 

There was a loud cry of wonder as the narrow path suddenly ended and they found themselves standing on a pebble strewn beach at the edge of a great black lake with Hogwarts Castle rising up impressively before them. 

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of a dozen or so little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry, Luna and Ron were followed into their boat by a tiny Asian girl with crystal blue eyes. Meanwhile, Hermione and Neville, who scrambled into the next boat over, where joined by a reedy looking boy and a big boned girl with dark hair. 

“Everyone in?” shouted Hagrid, who had a boat all to himself. “Right then – FORWARD!”

And the fleet of little boats castoff from the shore all at once, and began to propel themselves across the lake, which was smooth as glass. As they neared the castle with its gleaming windows and many towers and turrets, Harry could swear he felt something almost like a gentle nudge brush up against his mind. There and gone again, before he could examine it.

“Madam Hogwarts, says hello,” Luna murmured softly and Harry knew that she too had felt the same presence he had – warm and vast and so very welcoming.

“Heads down!” yelled Hagrid as the first of the boats reached the cliff upon which the castle was perched and they all bent their heads as the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face.

They were then carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them directly underneath the castle itself, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they were then instructed to clamber out onto another pebble strewn beach. 

“Oy, you there! Is this your toad?” said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as the first years climbed out of them.

“Trevor!” Neville cried blissfully, jogging back to the boat and holding out his hands for the fat, brown toad croaking grumpily in Hagrid’s massive fist.

They were then led up a passageway in the rock by Hagrid, his lamp bobbing along high above their heads, until at last they emerged onto the smooth, damp grass of the castle’s front lawn.

Hagrid led them up a flight of stone steps and for a moment they stood crowding around in front of the huge, oak front door. 

“Everyone here?” Hagrid asked, looking them over to ensure that they were all there and accounted for. “You there, still got yer toad?”

Hagrid then raised one of his giant fists and knocked three times on the castle door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are now at Hogwarts!


	7. The Sorting Hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter to celebrate both Harry and J.K. Rowling's birthdays.

The great oaken door swung open at once to reveal a witch in a set of emerald-green robes. She had a rather stern looking face and this impression was reinforced by the way her silvering black hair was pulled back in a tightly coiled bun at the base of her neck.

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” said Professor McGonagall, giving the large man a nod. “I shall take them from here.”

She allowed the door to swing open even wider and they were given their first look at the inside of the castle.

It was quite impressive indeed. The entrance hall was so large that the whole of Agesander Hall could have fit within it, though it would have been a bit of a squeeze. The stone walls were lit not with torches, but instead with rune etched brass braziers that produced glowing balls of spell-light that hovered in the air like miniature suns. Smokeless, silent and eternal, they provided as good a light as an electric bulb in a muggle-home, but even they weren’t bright enough to completely pierce the shadows concealing the hall’s high ceiling.

Professor McGonagall lead the forty first years across the flagged stone floor, so that they passed by a set of closed doors to their right and the base of a magnificent marble staircase to their left, and into a small, empty chamber just off from the hall.

The room wasn’t quite big enough for all of them to fit comfortable, which meant that they all had to stand much closer together than they would normally have. As the door closed behind them, Harry found he wasn’t the only one peering about nervously.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will have to be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House Common Room.

“The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will result in a loss of points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor I assure you. I hope that each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours. 

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can whilst waiting.”

Her dark eyes peered over top her square-rimmed spectacles intently, landing for a moment on Luna’s bottlecap earrings, Neville’s badly tied tie, and on Ron’s dirt smudged nose.

Harry couldn’t help nervously running his fingers through his hair in a desperate attempt to tidy it. The Sleekeazy was beginning to lose its battle and his hair was rapidly returning to its usual messy state.

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” said Professor McGonagall. “Please wait quietly.”

She left the chamber and Harry found himself trying to swallow around a lump that had inexplicably lodged itself in his throat.

“How exactly do they sort us into our House?” he asked Luna, wondering why it had never occurred to him to ask this question before.

“I don’t know,” Luna said mysteriously. “The method is kept very hush, hush.”

“I heard its some sort of test,” Ron confessed. “Fred said that its really painful, but I think he was joking.”

 _A test?_ Harry fretted, his heart sinking horribly. _But I hardly know any magic yet!_

He glanced around at his fellow first years and saw that they all looked terrified as well. No one was talking much except for Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about the spells she had memorized and wondering which one she’d need. Harry wished she would be quiet, because her muttering wasn’t helping his nerves at all! In fact, he didn’t think he had ever been this nervous before in his life … except, perhaps the day he had been allowed to open _The Book of the Dead_ for the first time and he’d been sure that the curse on its pages would rend him down to cinders for having disturbed it….

Yes, Harry decided watching the door that Professor McGonagall had exited through. This was exactly like that, because at any moment now the professor would come back and lead him to his doom.

Then, quite suddenly, everything seemed to become even worse. 

Harry felt the rolling chill and sudden wave of nausea that came from being in the presence of the Dead. He whirled around searching for the source and spotted it just as several people behind him screamed. 

A haunt of almost two dozen ghosts had just come streaming in through the wall behind them. Silvery-gray and with a misty aura, they glided through the room. Talking amongst themselves as they went; paying little mind to the first years they were phasing through.

Heartrate returning to normal as he recalled that the spirits of Hogwarts didn’t feed upon the Living, Harry noticed at last that the lot of them seemed to be arguing. One ghost, that of a portly little monk if his habit and tonsure were anything to go by, was saying: “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second change –” 

“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves?” asked another ghost. This one the ghost of a man wearing a high collared doublet and hose straight out of the fifteenth century. “He gives us all a bad name as you well know. And he’s not even an actual ghost, so I don’t see – I say, what are you all doing here?”

Nobody answered. 

“They are new students,” said the ghost of a solemn young woman, who with her hip length hair, bell sleeved gown, and phantom seax belted at her waist looked as though she had stepped out of a painting from Arthurian legend. “You are about to be sorted then, I suppose?”

A few people nodded mutely.

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!” burbled the Friar, beaming at them. “My old house, you know.”

“Move along now,” barked a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to begin.”

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall instructed them, “and follow me.”

Feeling oddly as though he were moving through treacle, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair. Luna, then Ron, joined the que behind him, and then they all walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harry had never before encountered such strange and miraculous place. Along the walls were more enchanted braziers, but they weren’t the only source of illumination. Floating midair were countless candles; the wax dripping from them vanishing into thin air before it could land upon any of the students seated below or the four long tables they were seated at. The tables themselves were made of some lustrous dark timber and set with glittering golden plates surrounded by a plethora of knives, forks and spoons; silver and onyx salt and pepper cellars; as well as, gold rimmed crystal goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table were the teachers were sitting.

Professor McGonagall led them up in front of this long table, so that they came to a halt in a line facing their fellow students, with the teachers behind them. Dotted here and there among the students were the ghosts from before, each of them shining a misty silver in the candlelight. 

Mainly to avoid the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He apparently wasn’t the only one looking heavenward, because he heard Hermione Granger whisper, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_.”

It was hard to believe that there was a ceiling up there at all, and that the Great Hall didn’t simply open on to the heavens.

Harry looked back down just in time to see Professor McGonagall place a four-legged stool in front of them. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard’s hat that looked as though it were made of brown leather. It was worn shiny in some places, patched in others, and looked quite ancient.

The hubbub in the hall had died down and now everyone, student and teacher alike, was now staring at the hat. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then, inexplicably, the hat twitched. The crown of the hat scrunched up so that the folds in the worn leather became something vaguely face-like and then a rip in the brim opened wide like a mouth. And then – most unexpectedly of all – the hat began to sing:

 

“ _Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,_

_But don’t judge on what you see,_

_I’ll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There’s nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can’t see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you’ve a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You’ll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don’t be afraid!_

_And don’t get in a flap!_

_You’re in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I’m a Thinking Cap!_ ”

 

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables in turn and then became quite still again. 

“So we’ve just got to try on a hat!” Ron whispered sounding quite relieved. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.”

Harry tried to smile but feared that the expression on his face was closer to that of a grimace. Yes, trying on a hat would be a lot better than having to do some sort of test, but he did wish that they could try it on without everyone watching. Never mind that the hat seemed to be asking for quite a lot; Harry didn’t feel particularly brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. Not to mention that Harry also didn’t particularly care for the idea of something – even if it was just a hat – riffling about in his head like it was a library book. There were quite a few things inside his noggin that he would much rather keep private, thank you very much. 

Professor McGonagall stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will come forward, put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she informed them, then read off the first name on the list. “Abbott, Hannah!”

A pink-faced girl with long, blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. There was a moment’s pause – 

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at it. Harry could see the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her. 

“Bones, Susan!” called Professor McGonagall reading off the second name on the list and a girl with long brown hair in a plait came forward.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah Abbott at the Hufflepuff table.

The third name called, that of “Boot, Terry” was that of the first boy to be called forward to be sorted. 

He was also the first to be sorted into “RAVENCLAW!” which set the table second from the left to clapping and cheering; several of Terry Boot’s new Housemates even stood up to shake hands with the brunette as he joined them.

“Brocklehurst, Amanda” went to Ravenclaw too, but “Brown, Lavender” became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron’s twin brothers catcalling as she claimed a seat beside Cormac McLaggen.

“Bulstrode, Millicent,” the big-boned girl who had shared a boat with Hermione and Neville then became the first new Slytherin. In spite of all that Harry had heard of Slytherin House, they didn’t look like a thoroughly unpleasant lot. In fact, Millicent Bulstrode was welcomed to the table with a smile from a dark-skinned girl, one of the House’s prefects if the green-and-silver badge on her chest was anything to go by. 

After Millicent Bulstrode, a pair of boys “Corner, Michael” and “Cornfoot, Stephen” were sorted into Ravenclaw. Up next was one of Draco Malfoy’s lackeys, the boy with the pudding bowl haircut, whose name was apparently “Crabbe, Vincent.” The hat sat on his head for only a moment before declaring him a Slytherin. 

As the sorting continued Harry couldn’t help noticing that it sometimes took the hat longer to place certain people into their House. “Finnigan, Seamus,” the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor and he was able to pass the hat off to “Goldstein, Anthony” who was almost immediately declared a Ravenclaw.

Malfoy’s other lackey “Goyle, Gregory” was also sorted very quickly with the hat giving at shout of “SLYTHERIN!” as soon as it was settled atop his head. 

As Goyle lumbered off to join Crabbe at the Slytherin table, Hermione Granger almost ran to the stool when her named was called and eagerly jammed the battered hat on her head.

“GRYFFINDOR!” shouted the hat after a moment’s consideration and Harry could hear Ron groan on the other side of Luna.

As Hermione Granger made her way over to the Gryffindor table and claimed an empty seat beside Percy the Prefect, Harry was struck by an awful thought, as one often is when very nervous. What if he wasn’t chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said that there had obviously been a mistake and he’d best start applying to one of the other schools of magic to take him.

While Harry’s distressing thoughts were churning about in his head four more first years were sorted, including the little Asian girl he’d shared a boat with – “Li, Sue” joining Amanda Brocklehurst at the Ravenclaw table. 

Up next was the boy who kept losing his toad, “Longbottom, Neville,” who had a hard time of it trying to be sorted. First, on the way to the stool he tripped over the hem of his robe and fell over, then the hat took several minutes to decide where to place him, and then, when it finally shouted, “GRYFFINDOR,” Neville ran off still wearing the hat, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it Luna.

Luna’s own sorting was much less eventful with the hat resting on her head for but a moment before declaring her a Ravenclaw – just as she had assumed she would be.

The girl right after her, “MacDougal, Morag,” also became a Ravenclaw, but “Macmillan, Ernest” the stoutly built boy who went after her was quickly sorted into Hufflepuff. 

And then it was Malfoy’s turn. He swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once. The hat had to barely touch his slicked back white blond hair before it screamed, “SLYTHERIN!”

Leaving Malfoy to go off and join Crabbe and Goyle at the far-right table, looking very pleased with himself.

Aside from Harry himself there were now only thirteen first years left to be sorted. 

“Malone, Roger” … “RAVENCLAW!”

“Moon, Leanne” … “HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Nott, Theodore” … “SLYTHERIN!”

“Parkinson, Pansy … “SLYTHERIN!”

Then a pair of twin girls, “Patil, Padma” and “Patil, Parvati” who went to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor respectively. And they were followed by “Perks, Sally-Anne” who joined Megan Jones at the Hufflepuff table and then, at long last – 

“Potter, Harry!”

As Harry stepped forward, whispers broke out quite suddenly all over the hall. With people saying things like “ _Potter_ , did she say?” and “Does she mean _the_ Harry Potter?” 

The last thing Harry saw before the sorting hat dropped over his eyes was an entire hall full of people craning forward to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the dark interior of the hat and with nothing else to do, he waited. 

“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. And a strong spirit – wounded, but healing nicely – that will serve you well on the path you must walk young Abhorsen….” The hat hummed again, then went on, “Not a bad mind either. Why your fairly quick-witted at your best … and there’s talent too, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice healthy thirst to prove yourself as well…. But where should I put you….?”

Harry gripped the edges of the stool tightly and thought, _Anywhere, just don’t send me away!_

“Oh, child,” soothed the hat’s voice. “They’re not about to send you away … you’ll be great, you know, it’s all here in your head … but where to put you … Slytherin would be a good fit, but you’re perhaps a bit too bold by half for old Salazar’s House – so it had better be GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took the hat off, handed it to “Rivers, Oliver,” and walked shakily towards the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen that he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, “We got Potter! We got Potter!”

As the Ravenclaw’s table ran parallel to Gryffindor’s, Harry chose a seat just across the aisle from Luna, not realizing that it meant he would be sitting opposite the ghost in the high-collared doublet. In fact, he hadn’t noticed the ghost at all, having passed off the pricking of nausea the ghost’s presence caused him as the remnants of nerves, until the spirit reached across the table to give Harry a congratulatory pat on the arm.

With anyone else the ghost’s hand would have pass right through them, leaving them with the feeling of having plunged their arm in a bucket of ice water and perhaps the sensation of a drain of energy, but not so with Harry. He could feel the ghost’s hand upon his arm as surely anyone else’s. The touch was icy cold to be sure, but no less immaterial than any other living soul’s.

The ghost jerked his hand back as though he had received an electric shock and he stared at Harry with wide, almost fearful eyes. 

“Y-you,” he spluttered. “My – my Lord Abhor- –!”

“ _Don’t!_ ” Harry hissed, a tinge of power rising up within him to coat the back of his throat. He would call on Dyrim if he must to still the spirit’s tongue or Belgaer if he absolutely had to, to wipe the knowledge of his identity from the spirit’s mind. “No one knows of that and it should stay that way. _Please_.”

“Of – of course,” the ghost conceded at once, “My word as a de Mimsy-Porpington.”

Harry nodded accepting the oath and to the spirit’s apparent relief turned his attention to Luna, who had been watching the whole proceedings with eyes as round as Galleons. They gave each other little nods of greeting, then Luna returned her attention to the sorting as Harry looked up at the High Table which he could now see properly. At the end nearest to him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Harry grinned back a touch too widely in return. 

Aside from Hagrid there were seventeen other people seated at the Hight Table: six men, ten women, and another ghost. Seated at the very center of it all in a golden thronelike chair was Albus Dumbledore, who Harry recognized at once from his Chocolate Frog Card picture. At the other end of the table, away from Hagrid, Harry could also see Professor Quirrell – looking very peculiar in a large purple turban – and beside him, to Harry’s astonishment, was the man in black from Cokeworth. 

There were now only four people left to be sorted. “Thomas, Dean,” a black boy even taller than Ron, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table. Followed by “Turpin, Lisa,” who joined Luna in Ravenclaw and then, finally, it was Ron’s turn.

He was a pale green now, which combined with his red hair made him look vaguely like a Christmas decoration. But Ron needn’t have worried; because, much like Malfoy before him, the hat barely had to touch the top of his head before it shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry clapped along with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him. 

“Well done, Ron, excellent,” said Percy Weasley pompously over top Harry’s head as “Zabini, Blaise,” was made a Slytherin.

With the last name called and all forty of the first years sorted, Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took away the Sorting Hat and its stool. 

Harry felt his stomach give a faint gurgle of hunger and glanced down at his empty gold plate. The sandwiches and sweets felt as though they had been eaten ages ago rather than mere hours.

A sudden hush fell over the hall as Albus Dumbledore climbed to his feet. He was beaming at them all, his arms spread wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

 _Is this a genuine display of welcome_ , Harry pondered, _or is it all an act?_

“Welcome!” he cried. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our magnificent feast, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!” Then, with a small bow, he added, “Thank you!” 

As he returned to his seat everyone clapped and cheered, but Harry could feel his eyebrows climbing towards his hairline. 

“Is – Is he a bit mad?” he wondered to himself, then gave a small jerk as someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Luna had turned around in her seat and reached across the aisle to tap him on the shoulder. Around her, her housemates stared at her in quiet shock as apparently such commingling just wasn’t done.

“He has a lot of magical power, but isn’t of the Blood. It tends to drive all of the great ones a bit mad now,” Luna whispered, her words ringing with some subtly power. She gave a slow blink and suddenly brightened. “Ah, the foods here!”

Harry turned back around in his own seat and found himself gawping at the display before him. Without his even noticing when it had happened the dishes along the table had piled themselves with food and he had never seen such a variety on a single table before in his life. There was roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, fish, and lamb, as well as, Yorkshire pudding, potatoes prepared in every way possible, vegetables of all sorts, tureens of different kinds of soup, boats of gravy, bottles ketchup, and, for some strange reason, little bowels of peppermint humbugs and sherbet lemons.

Harry spread his napkin across his lap – a sheet of crisp scarlet linen that was dusted with tiny golden lions, which were either a miracle of needlework or some impressive spellcasting – and began to pile his plate with food. Choosing for himself some sort of small round fish that had been grilled and coated in a tomato, garlic and basil sauce, as well as, a medley of steamed vegetables and creamy mushroom risotto, all the while leaving the peppermints and sherbet lemons well alone. It was all so delicious he found himself going back for seconds and sampling a few of the other dishes as well.

“That does look good,” said the ghost opposite Harry rather sadly, watching Dean Thomas as he cut up his steak.

“Can’t you –?” asked Dean, and Harry guessed that the other boy was probably muggle-born.

“I’m afraid I haven’t had to eat anything in nearly five hundred years,” said the ghost. “I don’t need to, of course –” he side-eyed Harry as he said this – “but one does miss it. I don’t think I’ve introduced myself, have I? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.” 

“Oh, I know who you are!” said Ron at once. “My brothers told me about you – you’re Nearly Headless Nick!”

“I would _prefer_ you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy –” the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted him.

“ _Nearly_ Headless?” he asked. “How can you be _nearly_ headless?”

Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn’t going at all the way he wanted.

“Like _this_ ,” he said irritably and he seized his left ear and pulled.

His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously killed him by trying to decapitate him, but they had clearly not done it properly. In fact, Harry could have done the job better. 

Looking quite pleased at the stunned looks on the faces of the first years surrounding him, Sir Nicholas flipped his head back onto his neck, adjusted his high collar so that it was securely in place, and said, “So – new Gryffindors! I hope you are all going to help us win the House Cup this year! Gryffindor has never gone so long without winning it! The Slytherins have beaten us to it for the last six years in a row! And I must say, it has caused the Bloody Baron to become most smug – he’s the Slytherin ghost, you know.”

He nodded his head in a wobbly manner in the direction of the Slytherin table and Harry took note of the frightful looking ghost sitting there. The Bloody Baron had been a youngish man at the time of his death, but his gaunt features and wide, staring eyes made him seem older. As for his name, it was obviously derived from the shining silver blood that stained his richly embroidered robes and cloak. 

“How did he get covered in blood?” Seamus asked with morbid interest.

“I’ve never asked,” said Sir Nicolas delicately, a statement that Harry noticed did not actually reveal whether or not he knew the answer to Seamus’s question.

After everyone had eaten as much as they could possibly manage, the remnants of food began to fade from the plates, leaving them just as spotless as they had been before. Then a moment later the desserts appeared and there was just as much variety to them as there had been during the main course. There were blocks of ice-cream, pies with every sort of filling imaginable, chocolate eclairs, jam doughnuts, trifle, rice pudding, jelly, and much, much more…

While Harry debated with himself whether or not he had enough room in his already stuffed stomach for a bit of treacle tart, the talk around him turned to their families. 

“I’m half-and-half,” said Seamus. “Me mum’s a witch. Me dad’s a Muggle. Mum didn’t tell him what she was ’til after the wedding. So it was a bit of a nasty shock for him.”

There was a smattering of laughter around him. 

“I don’t rightly know what I am,” Dean admitted. “My mum and step-dad are both Muggles, but I never knew my biological father… he disappeared before I was born, so for all I know he could have been a wizard.”

There was a solemn silence after this, because those who had grown up in the Wizarding World knew all too well that a sudden disappearance a decade before often meant that the person had been killed in the war with Voldemort.

“What about you, Neville?” Ron asked.

“Well, my gran brought me up and she’s a witch,” said Neville, “But my family didn’t think I had any magic myself for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me – he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once and I nearly drowned – but nothing actually happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie had come around for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Aunt Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. Only instead of going splat, I bounced – all the way down the garden path and into the road. Grandad hexed Great Uncle Algie something awful for dropping me, but he was really pleased I’d managed some magic. And Gran was so happy that she was crying. Then you should have seen everyone’s faces when I got in here – they thought I might not have enough magic to come to a school like Hogwarts, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased that he bought me my toad.”

 _Good on Grandad Longbottom for hexing the idiot_ , Harry thought crossly. If Neville had indeed been a Squib then a fall like that could have killed him. 

On Harry’s other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione Granger were talking about lessons: 

“I do hope they start right away,” Hermione was saying eagerly. “There’s just so much to learn. I’m particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else. Of course, it’s supposed to be frightfully difficult!”

“Don’t worry,” Percy consoled. “You’ll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing. It’ll be a while before Professor McGonagall allows you to do anything more complicated, I assure you.” 

A little further down the table Parvati Patil was musing with her Ravenclaw twin, Padma, about how much longer it would be before they were allowed to head off to bed. Each of them stifling yawns in their hands and triggering a contagious bought of yawning in Harry himself.

Harry too was beginning to feel sleepy as the effects of a long day and a belly full of good food began to work its magic on him. And so, it was with half-lidded eyes that he looked back up at the High Table. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet; Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore; and Professor Quirrell, in his ridiculous turban, was talking to the professor in black. 

What happened next was very strange. As Professor Quirrell turned to respond something said by the slender looking witch on his other side the dark eyes of the man he had been speaking to meet Harry’s own over top his turban and Harry felt the most peculiar sensation. The lightning bolt scar on his forehead throbbed with the dull ache of a lost tooth and Harry swore he could feel the scuttling legs of an insect and the phantom rasp of scales encircling his neck. But then Professor Quirrell looked back at the man in black the feeling began to fade as the man’s dark eyes looked away from him.

“Empty night, what was that,” Harry rasped, running the palm of his right hand over this throat just to reassure himself that there wasn’t a snake hanging like a noose about his neck.

“Everything alright, Harry?” Luna asked softly, her nearly colorless eyes peering worriedly at him across the aisle.

“Y-yeah,” said Harry, removing his hand from his throat, still feeling quite shaken. He then turned and tapped Percy Weasley on the shoulder and asked, “Who’s that teacher sitting next to Professor Quirrell?”

“Oh, you know Professor Quirrell already, do you?” the prefect remarked, glancing up at the High Table overtop his horn-rimmed glasses. The older boy made a faint humming noise and then said, “The one on the right is Professor Sinistra, she teaches Astronomy. As for the man on his left – that’s Professor Snape, the resident Potions Master.”

Harry watched Snape for a while, but the Potions Master didn’t look at him again.

After a while the desserts too disappeared, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again, and the hall fell silent once more. 

“Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered,” he said. “I have a few start-of-term notices to give you, but first I would like to announce we have a change in staff this year. As I’m sure those of you in your third year and above will have noticed, Professor Quirrell has rejoined us after his yearlong sojourn. However, this year he shall be joining us not in the position of your Muggle Studies teacher, but as your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” 

This announcement was met by a polite round of applause, during which Harry heard Percy mutter under his breath, “Ah, no wonder Snape was making Quirrell so nervous earlier. Everyone knows _he_ wants the Dark Arts job….”

“Now,” said Professor Dumbledore moving on as the applause for Quirrell died out, “for the start-of-term notices.

“First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils as the beasts dwelling within it do not take kindly to visitors. Which is something a few of our older students would do well to remember as well –” Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins as his said this. “I have also been asked by our caretaker, Mr. Filch, to remind you all that no magic is to be used between classes in the corridors.

“Also, tryouts for the Inter-House Choir are to be held at the end of the week. They will be overseen by Professor Flitwick. Meanwhile, Quidditch trails will be held throughout the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their House team should contact Madam Hooch. As for the other wide array of clubs and organizations offered here at Hogwarts, sign-up sheets with the pertinent details should be showing up soon on the notice boards in each House’s Common Room.

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death.”

Only a few students laughed – Cormac McLaggen among them. Harry, however, was frowning up at the headmaster.

“He’s not serious, is he?” he asked Percy Weasley.

“Must be,” said Percy, frowning up at Dumbledore, too. “It’s odd though, because he usually gives us a reason why we’re not allowed to go somewhere – the forest’s full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. You’d think he might have told us prefects, at least!”

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore, as the muttering his last announcement had generated died down. Harry noticed as the other teachers’ smiles became rather fixed.

Dumbledore drew his wand from within the voluminous sleeve of his robe, gave it a little flick – as if he was trying to get a fly off the end – and a long golden ribbon few out of it. The ribbon then rose into the space before the four tables and began twisting itself into words.

“Now, everybody chose your favorite tune,” Dumbledore instructed, “and off we go!”

And the school, in the most unorganized hodgepodge of sounds Harry had ever had the misfortune of being subjected to, began to bellow:

 

“ _Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they’re bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we’ve forgot,_

_Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot.”_

 

Harry who’d sung to the tune of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” finished rather quickly, but there were plenty of others who finished well after him and eventually only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

“Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. “A magic of its own sort beyond all that we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

After wishing Luna a goodnight, Harry followed the rest of the Gryffindor first years as they were led by Percy Weasley and his fellow prefect, Isobel MacDougal, through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry’s legs felt like they were made of lead, but only because he was so tired. He was too sleepy to pay any mind to the people in the portraits that lined the corridors, who whispered and pointed as they passed, or the fact that twice Percy and Isobel led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed even more staircases and traversed seemingly endless corridors, the lot of them yawning and dragging their feet, and just as Harry was beginning to wonder how much farther it was that they had to go when they came to a sudden stop.

A bundle of walking sticks were floating in midair ahead of them, and, as Percy took a step toward them, they stared throwing themselves at him. 

“That’s Peeves,” Isobel whispered taking a protective step in front of them, while Percy continued forward. “He’s the castle’s resident poltergeist.”

Well a poltergeist certainly explained why Harry wasn’t sensing the deathly aura of one of the castle’s ghosts. Poltergeists weren’t members of the Dead at all. Instead they were constructs made up of the ambient magic and wildly fluctuating emotions of a dwelling’s residents.

“Peeves,” said Percy in a loud, blustering tone, “Peeves – show yourself.”

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered him. 

“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron about this,” Percy threatened.

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a too wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks. 

“Ooooooooh!” he cried with an evil cackle. “Ickle Firsties! What fun!”

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked. 

“Go away, Peeves, or the Baron’ll hear about this, I mean it!” barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks as he did so. They would have landed on Neville’s head if not for Isobel pulling him out of the way in time. In the distance they could hear Peeves rattling coats of armor as he zoomed past.

“You’ll want to watch out for Peeves,” Isobel warned, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder as they set off again.

“Precisely,” said Percy pompously from the front of the line. “The Headmaster and the Bloody Baron’s the only ones who can control him, he won’t even listen to the Prefects. Ah, here we are – Gryffindor’s Landing.”

They had reached a corridor that seemed to go nowhere and was otherwise empty save for a portrait of a very fat women in a set of fancy looking pink silk robes that hung on the back most wall.

“Password?” she asked.

“Caput Draconis,” said Percy importantly, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it – Neville needing a leg up – and found themselves in the Gryffindor Common Room. A cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs and whose walls were lined with scarlet tapestries with gold brocade.

“Alright, girls follow me,” said Isobel, herding the four new Gryffindor girls – Hermione, Parvati Patil, Fay Dunbar, and Lavender Brown – to a door on the right side of the fireplace.

Meanwhile the boys – Harry, Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus – were shepherded to the opposite side of the fireplace by Percy. They were then led up to the top of a winding mahogany staircase to a room where they found their beds at last, which consisted of a set of five four-posters that were each was hung with velvet curtains of a deep red and made up with a scarlet duvet and sheets of pale gold.

Their trunks had already been brought up by someone, so all they had to do was pull on their pajamas and fall into bed. They exchanged goodnights at once and soon everyone was crawling into their chosen bed with the only disruptions coming from Ron yelling, “Get _off_ , Scabbers! Quit chewing my sheets!” 

Harry dozed off as soon as his head hit his feather pillow and he was soon carried away into a deep and restful sleep.

~¤~¤~¤~ 

On the western side of the castle, at the top of a tightly spiraling staircase and past an aged wooden door with no handle was the Ravenclaw Common Room. A broad circular room whose most prominent feature were its gracefully arching windows hung with blue-and-bronze silks that gave it an airier feel than the rest of the castle. In the light of day, the Ravenclaw students would have a spectacular view of the school grounds and the surrounding mountains, but at this late hour the windows appeared so dark as to be nearly opaque.

Across the spangled midnight-blue carpet and towards the back of a niche opposite the handless door was a tall statue made of white marble. This statue, which had been shaped into a likeness of the House’s founder, Rowena Ravenclaw, stood guard over yet another door. This one leading up to the Ravenclaw dormitories in the tower’s turrets up above.

It was here, in her dormitory shared with five other girls, that Luna Lovegood lay in her four-poster bed beneath an eiderdown of sky-blue silk. While the wind whistling around the tower windows had lulled her dormmates into a deep sleep almost at once. Luna’s own sleep was far from restful. The blonde Seer was caught in the throes of a nightmare or perhaps some strange vision about her best friend, Harry Potter.

The black-haired boy was wearing the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher’s strange purple turban, which seemed to be speaking to him, but Luna couldn’t understand what it was saying as it spoke in a strangle sibilant hiss of a language. Harry appeared to be arguing with it in the same strange language, his bright green eyes flashing with anger and denial as the turban slowly began to unwrap itself from around his head and coil its trailing ends serpent like around his neck.

Luna could hear – as if from a great distance – the sound of high, cold, cruel laughter as Harry struggled against the strips of silk attempting to throttle the life out of him. Then suddenly there was a rushing sound as if some great beast were arising from the depths as a great power awoke – the strips of fabric caught alight and finally Luna was catapulted awake.

She was drenched in a cold sweat and shaking like a leaf in a high wind. All around her, her dormmates slept on as Luna pulled a handkerchief from underneath her pillow and began daubing her face dry. She was startled to realize that it wasn’t just sweat dampening her face, but also cold tears running from her eyes as though icy scales had just melted from over top them.

Had that been just a nightmare brought on by too much trifle or a True Seeing made confusing and indistinct without the clarifying guidance of frozen water? Luna had no way of knowing. And that in and of itself filled her with a sense of unease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been producing chapters rather quickly this month, but things may slow down as I get the next couple of chapters just right. They are a bit more divergent from canon that the last two so the process is a bit less re-watch scene from the movie, re-read chapter in book, add a dash of Luna and world building/merging, blend until smooth, then post.
> 
> "The Sorting Hat's Song" and "The Hogwarts School Song" of course belong to Ms. Rowling.


	8. The Potions Master

Hogwarts Castle was even more impressive in the light of day, if that were possible. 

It was an enormous, seven story high structure with half a dozen mismatched towers, four balconies, and far too many staircases: a hundred and forty-two of them to be precise. There were wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; and some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. According to Luna one of the Founders had been very fond of sweeping up and down staircases in a long, billowing cloak and so had made sure to add stairs wherever it was possible to do so, which was why there was a set of stairs that wound up one side of the North Tower and back down again without actually going anywhere. 

The inside of the castle was even more confusing if it was possible. There were corridors that looped and curled and twisted in on themselves, rooms that led into other rooms, and even rooms that had been built inside of other rooms. Then there were the doors: doors that wouldn’t open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren’t really doors at all, but solid walls that were just pretending. Add in the secret passageways, sliding panels and trapdoors, and it was nearly impossible find your way around. 

And there weren’t really any consistent landmarks either. Not with the way the people in the portraits liked to wander off and visit one another, and Harry was sure that the coats of armor moved about when no one was looking just to mess with you. 

The ghosts were helpful enough, even if being in their presence for an extended period of time left Harry feeling as though he were coming down with a bought of flu; racked with chills and vaguely nauseous. Sir Nicolas was still a bit nervous in Harry’s presence, but he was always ready enough to point him in the correct direction if asked. Peeves the Poltergeist, on the other hand, was a menace. Since he wasn’t one of the Dead, Harry couldn’t sense him coming and so had about as much warning as anyone else for when he was going to pop up, which was to say none at all. 

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry didn’t know why someone who seemed to hate children as much as he did had got himself a job in a school, but here he was. All of the older students had some story about just how unpleasant the man was and by the time breakfast rolled around on their very first morning, Luna had a story as well. 

“I got turned around as I was coming down to the Great Hall,” she explained, stirring treacle into her porridge. “Then I accidently tried to go through the door that leads to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor when that cat of his, you know, Mrs. Norris, spotted me –”

Harry did indeed know about Mrs. Norris. A scraggly, saw-dusted colored creature with bulging, lamp-like eyes just like Filch’s own. According to the Weasley twins, if you broke a rule in front of her, it was as bad as breaking one in front of Filch himself. Because she would immediately rush off for her master, then lead him back to you in an instant. 

“– Filch didn’t believe me when I told him I was lost,” Luna went on. “He accused me of trying to break-in on purpose and was threatening to have me hauled down to the dungeons and strung up by my thumbs when the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor wandered by and convinced him to leave me alone.” 

While they had been talking the four Heads of House were walking along aisles between the tables handing out schedules. Harry received his from the stern looking Professor McGonagall, while Luna received hers from a diminutive little wizard named Professor Flitwick, who stood at least a foot shorter than either of the first years. 

Schedules in hand, they immediately put their heads together to see if they had any classes together.

“We’ve got History of Magic after Morning Break today,” Harry noted, then after checking the other History of Magic slots, added, “As well as after lunch on Tuesday and second period on Wednesday.” 

“As well as second period Charms on both Tuesday and Thursday,” Luna added. “And we’ve both got Astronomy at midnight on Wednesday.

“All year mates have Astronomy together,” said Fred Weasley as he and his twin claimed a seat on either side of Harry.

“Except after you take your O.W.L.s in your fifth year,” said George Weasley, snagging himself a piece of toast. “After that the class is discontinued. According to Bill it’s ‘cause there’s never enough interest to justify teaching it at N.E.W.T. level.”

At a quarter till nine the first bell of the morning sounded, signaling that everyone had fifteen minutes to get to their first class. While most of the older students seemed content to finish off the last of their breakfast, there was a mad scramble amongst the first years to leave early since they knew it would take them the longest to actually find their way to their classrooms.

The duo parted ways in the Entrance Hall. Luna and her fellow Ravenclaws joining the trickle of first year Slytherins as they made their way towards the castle’s oaken front door and the grounds that lay beyond them. They would each have Herbology three times a week with class being held in the castle greenhouses. 

Harry meanwhile joined his fellow Gryffindors as they headed up the marble staircase to the first floor where they would be having Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell. As they walked Harry found himself the subject of much gawking and a fair number of whispered conversations. 

“Look there – it’s _him_!” the other students would say. “Next to the tall kid with red hair.”

“You’re right it _is_ him!” others would reply. “Did you see his face? Did you see his _scar_?!”

It was all rather off putting, Harry thought. He was used to being able to fade into the background and be just another face in the crowd at his primary school and now he felt as though he had a spotlight fixed upon him. Still, things settled down a bit once the nine Gryffindors finally found themselves in their Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

As they entered a different sort of excited whispering broke out amongst them and it was easy to see why. If the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom itself was anything to go by then then lessons would be quite interesting indeed. 

The room was made up of a wall of arching windows that illuminated the three rows of desks that occupied the floor – four desks to a row – as well as the teacher’s lectern and desk at the head of the room. Then up above them, suspended by iron chains from the ceiling was the preserved skeleton of small dragon, which to Harry’s senses filled the room with the faint deathly aura of a crypt.

However, for all the excitement they had felt upon entering the room, the lesson itself turned out to be rather underwhelming if Harry was feeling kind and a complete joke if he wasn’t. 

If possible Professor Quirrell seemed even twitchier and more nervous than he had been when Harry had run into him on Diagon Alley. Not to mention the man now seemed to absolutely _reek_ of garlic.

“I overheard that prefect, Isobel MacDougal, saying that he ran into vampires on the continent and now he’s stuffing them in his turban so that he’ll be protected where ever he goes,” Fay Dunbar whispered when the professor breezed up the aisle between her and Parvati Patil.

His turban, Professor Quirrell explained to them himself, had apparently been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome necromancer of minor talent who had been terrorizing a local village with a fair number of Inferi she had raised. 

However, no one was quite sure if they believed his story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had defeated the necromancer and gotten rid of the reanimated corpses, Quirrell had gone pink and started talking about the weather.

 _Did he disperse some clouds to expose the Dead Hands to sunlight or something?_ Harry wondered to himself as that was the only way he could think of off the top of his head that weather magic might be used to banish a pack of Inferi.

Then the rest of the lesson was spent listening to Quirrell as he gave a slapdash lecture on what the Dark Arts even were.

Harry’s next lesson was an improvement only because the Gryffindors shared it with the Ravenclaws, which meant that Luna was there to suffer along with him. 

History of Magic was a subject that Harry would have normally enjoyed, but here it was transformed into the most boring class Harry had ever taken. Professor Binns’s dry, dusty voice could easily make the most fascinating events in wizarding history seem as dull and monotonous as watching paint dry. To make matter’s worse Binns was also the only teacher who was also a ghost. So, while Binns droned on and on and Harry’s classmates struggled to stay awake long enough to scribble down names, dates, and locations of important wizarding events, Harry was left with a chill working its way deeper into his bones and a sense of nausea like he’d eaten something a bit off at breakfast.

Lunch afterwards was a relief as the duo trudged their way down to the Great Hall. There they snagged a couple of porkpies apiece and a cup of peppermint tea to settle Harry’s stomach, before making their way into one of the castle’s courtyards to eat.

“I spotted it on my way out to Herbology,” said Luna, daintily nibbling at the flaky crust of her lunch. “And the weather’s just too nice not to enjoy it while we still can.”

And it was nice out. The sky was a clear forget-me-not blue with a few feathery wisps of cirrus cloud and the temperature was just cool enough to let you know that autumn was beginning without being cold. 

“How was class with Malfoy and his cronies?” Harry asked, pulling his attention away from a cloud that held a vague resemblance to a crocodile.

“He made some remarks about how nobody stays friends with someone after they’re sorted into a different House,” she said serenely. “Then he added that you _might_ keep me around on account of a Ravenclaw being useful for copying homework from.”

“Wow, so I’m fair-weather and a moron that can’t do their own work,” Harry deadpanned. “Here’s hoping I’ll only have to put up with him in Astronomy. Otherwise all this charm he oozes might just have me walking him off the North Tower.”

Luna just laughed and said, “It’s not nice to murder people your first week of school, Harry.”

“Not murder if he manages to pull a Neville and bounce,” Harry returned.

It wasn’t long before the bell rang to let everyone know that they needed to get a move on to their afternoon classes. While Luna made her way back up to the castle for her first Transfiguration lesson, Harry got his own chance to see what Herbology classes were going to be like.

Gryffindors shared their Herbology lessons with the Hufflepuffs and were taught by their Head of House, Professor Sprout. A cheery, if dumpy, little witch with flyaway gray hair and rosy cheeks.

She gave them all plenty of time to pull on their tan over-robes over their uniforms before letting them into Greenhouse One, which housed the least dangerous of the magical plants and fungi that they would be studying. Nevertheless, Harry couldn’t help privately dubbing the class “Extreme Gardening” when halfway through their first lesson one of the Hufflepuff first years, Wayne Hopkins, was strung up by his ankles by a particularly recalcitrant cluster of Devil’s Snare.

Professor Sprout quickly subdued the irate creeper with a little puff of flame from the end of her wand and even taught them a handy little rhyme so that they could remember how to deal with the plant if they ever encountered it in the future:

 

“ _Devil’s Snare’s deadly fun,_

 _but will sulk in the sun._ ”

 

They then finished the lesson with a lecture on spotting the differences between the Common Flitterbloom and Devil’s Snare, which looked remarkably similar save for the slightly lighter green shade of the Flitterbloom’s spade-shaped leaves and the purple veins that ran the length of the underside of the Devil’s Snare’s.

“Next class I shall be showing you how to use spray bottles filled with ground slow-stone mixed with water to temporarily immobilize different sorts of strangling creepers for proper pruning,” she informed them as they made their way to the greenhouse’s door. 

~¤~¤~¤~

It was on Tuesday that Harry was reminded that there was a lot more to magic then just waving your wand around and saying a few quasi-Latin words.

Luna’s Head of House, Professor Flitwick, taught Charms. The tiny wizard was so small that he had to stand on a pile of books just to see over the top of his desk. And though he seemed to be a rather excitable sort of fellow – having become so emotional during the roll call that when he reached Harry’s name he’d given a little squeak and topple out of sight from atop his stack of books – he also really seemed to know his stuff.

He was quick to inform them that they wouldn’t be preforming any magic during this lesson, nor would they in the next either. He wanted each of them to have a solid grounding in the basics of magical theory before they even so much as began trying to shoot sparks.

Still he managed to make everything seem so interesting that only a couple of people groaned when he assigned a short essay on the three-steps of spellcasting.

“And remember,” he called as they began to troupe out at the end of class, “you need to start carrying your wand on your person at all times. This will allow your most trusted magical tool a chance to bond with you properly.” 

Harry and Luna ate lunch in the Great Hall as the enchanted ceiling churned above them with great, grey thunderheads that promised an incoming storm by nightfall. Then they headed off for their second History of Magic lesson, where they did their best not to mix up historical figures like Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball due to their grogginess.

Harry’s very last class of the day was Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall and he quickly discovered that his first impression of the witch – that she wasn’t a teacher to cross – had been quite right. Strict and clever, she gave them all a talking-to the moment they had finished seating themselves at their desks.

“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. You should all be aware that the forcible transfiguration of another human being into an animal, vegetable, or mineral is not only strictly prohibited, but also violates the second of Merlin’s Seven Laws of Magic,” she said. “Anyone messing around in my class will leave and be barred from returning. You have been warned.”

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn’t wait to get started, but soon realized that they weren’t going to be changing the furniture into animals until at least their third-year. But after taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and instructions on how to begin trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had made any difference to hers; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy at one end and gave Hermione a rare smile.

~¤~¤~¤~ 

Wednesday morning had seen tempers flare when Harry tried to sit with Luna at the Ravenclaw table for breakfast. Percy Weasley had gone from bleary-eyed after a late night up the North Tower the previous evening to puffed up and irate as he demanded that Harry return to his seat at the Gryffindor Table claiming that it was against school rules for students to mingle in such a way.

Luckily the duo the Ravenclaw prefect, Robert Hillard, had stepped in before Percy could work himself up into a proper lather.

“It’s only against rules if it’s during the Welcoming or Leaving Feasts and you know it, Weasley,” he interjected. “What are you trying to do – hog the Boy Who Lived all to yourselves?”

“Now that’s not it at all,” Percy burst, a wash of high color creeping up the back of his neck. “It’s only the first week of term and the first years should be acquainting themselves not only with their dormmates but also their housemates to build House unity and pride.”

Even the other two prefects for Ravenclaw and Gryffindor had been drawn into the matter. Penelope Clearwater was on Percy’s side; while Isobel MacDougal had chimed in that there was nothing wrong with inter-house friendships or relationships.

“After all, not everyone has their whole family in one House, Percival,” she added pointedly shooting a glance at her younger sister, Morag, who was a dormmate of Luna’s.

The matter was put to bed quite firmly by a passing Professor McGonagall, who had a keen sense for when trouble was about to break out.

“For goodness sake, Mr. Weasley, if they wish to eat together and it’s not against school rules for them to do so then let them do as they please,” she informed him brusquely. Then a bit quieter, she asked both Harry and Luna to at least consider eating with their own House at least once a day. “I won’t order you to,” she added. “Nor will you be punished if you don’t, but Mr. Weasley does have a point about getting to know your housemates.”

And so, Harry had Luna had begun a rotating schedule of which table they had breakfast and dinner at with lunches spent at neither table, but in one of the courtyards if weather permitted.

~¤~¤~¤~

Friday marked an important day for both Harry and Luna. Not only had they managed to make it down to the Great Hall without getting lost or having to ask for directions once, but they had also discovered a point of convergence when traveling the most direct route from their common room down to the Entrance Hall. The stature of a Glatisant Beast devouring a knight in full plate armor on the fifth floor, therefore became their meeting point when heading down for breakfast and where they went their separate ways when heading up to bed in the evening.

“So, what have we got today?” Harry asked Luna, who was seated beside him at the Gryffindor table as they both studiously ignored the rather pointed looks being sent their way by Percy the Prefect. 

“You have Double Potions with the Slytherins this morning,” said Luna, who had memorized both of their schedules the very first day. “And I have Double Potions with the Hufflepuffs after lunch.” 

“Snape’s their Head of House,” Ron Weasley informed them from across the table. “I’ve heard he favors them – wish McGonagall favored us. Then maybe we wouldn’t have got that mound of homework yesterday.” 

Harry highly doubted this. Professor McGonagall was unerringly fair in her treatment of students from all of the Houses. Something Harry could only see as a positive since in addition to being their Head of House she was also the Deputy Headmistress as well.

“Post’s here,” someone called from further down the table as about a hundred owls suddenly streamed into the Great Hall.

The first time this had happened it had given Harry a bit of a shock as there was quite a bit of difference between receiving owl-post from a single bird and the morning post delivery at Hogwarts, which felt quite a bit like being dropped into the middle of a feathery windstorm. Still, once the initial surprise faded it was rather interesting to watch the jewel-eyed birds circle the tables in a loose formation until they saw their owners and dropped letters and packages into their laps or sometimes landed and relayed recorded messages aloud.

Harry hadn’t received any post yet, but this was about to change as Hedwig and one of the school’s tawny owls winged their way over to him. Hedwig, perched herself gently on Harry’s right shoulder, dropped a thick envelop onto Harry’s plate and began to groom the messy hair above his ear. Meanwhile the tawny alighted between the marmalade and the sugar bowl.

The tawny owl didn’t have a letter on its person, but it did have one recorded by the runes set into the keratin of its beak. 

“Message for Harry Potter,” she said, in a voice that was not like any bird’s he’d heard before. “Message.”

“I’m Harry Potter,” he informed the bird. “Tell me the message please.”

The tawny owl cocked her head to one side and opened her beak. Harry saw a glint of spell-light on the bird’s tongue, then it began to speak with Hagrid’s voice.

“Hello Harry. I know yeh get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup o’ tea with me ‘round four? I want ter hear all about yer firs’ week. Send us an answer back if you do – Hagrid.”

The voice suddenly stopped, having reached the end of the message. The owl made gave a faint hoot and began to preen between her scaly toes.

Not quite sure how to send a reply in the same manner yet, Harry instead seized a spare bit of parchment from his bag along with a quill and scribbled out a short note that read:

 

_Hagrid,_

__I would love to come for tea. See you this afternoon._ _

_H.P._

 

He then pulled his wand from the holster on his hip and muttered, “ _Exsiccabo Atramento_ ,” while waving it over the glistening into to dry it. With this done, he folded the note up so that it would be easier to carry and handed it to the tawny owl, who flew off with it to where Hagrid was seated at the High Table at once.

Harry then turned his attention to the thick envelop that Hedwig had delivered. He had sent a letter off to Grandad before the first-years Wednesday Astronomy lessons: Telling the older wizard all about the House he and Luna had been sorted into and the classes he’d already attended. He’d even tacked on a post-script asking for advice on how to deal getting through lessons with a ghostly professor.

This he assumed would be his grandad’s answer; and so, he broke the wax seal on the envelope and opened it. Inside were a quill with a rune inscribed nip and several sheets of parchment covered with his grandad’s fluid script. It read:

 

_Dear Harry,_

_Congratulations on your sorting. I know your parents would be very proud. Your dad for getting into his old House and your mum for not allowing Inter-House rivalries to prevent you from sticking with your friend. She knew a thing or two about the difficulties of having a best friend in a rival House herself._

__I’m glad to hear that you are enjoying the majority of your classes. The teachers you’ve mention all attended Hogwarts after my time there, but I have heard good things about them. Professor McGonagall has a reputation for being quite knowledgeable in her field and Filius Flitwick was your mum’s favorite professor for a reason, so I’m sure you can learn a lot from the both of them._ _

_As for Professor Binns, let’s just say that being alive did not make his classes anymore lively than they already are. In fact, I’m not entirely sure that the man is aware that he actually is dead. The most shocking part of my third year was him floating into the classroom through the blackboard the morning he’d left his body behind in the staffroom._

__In any case, I’ll make the same recommendation for dealing with his lessons as I did for Lily. Do your readings outside of class and let the Dicto-Quill I’ve sent you take your notes for you while spending the class itself working with your Death Sense. Try tracking Professor Binns’s aura as he moves about the classroom and see if you can learn how to differentiate between it and the other ghosts in the castle._ _

_As for your Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, I’m afraid that it doesn’t surprise me that they aren’t going any better than they are. Hogwarts hasn’t been able to keep a Defense teacher for more than a couple of terms at a time since before your mother was a student. There are rumors that the post is jinxed or cursed and there are fewer and fewer people willing to take their chances on the job as time goes by._

__All I can ask is that you try your best and study from the textbook as much as possible. I shall try to fill in any gaps in your knowledge during the summer. If the Moira are feeling merciful maybe you’ll have a better teacher next term._ _

_Things have been quiet here on the Ait without you around. Fea says I’m suffering from empty nest syndrome, but I am trying to keep busy. I’ve been carving Wind Flutes to set up at the barrow they are excavating down river from us. I don’t believe that there will be any problems, but better safe than someone getting eaten by a Barrow-Wright._

__And remember if there is anything you need don’t hesitate to ask and I’ll do my best to pass it along with Hedwig. Even if it’s just a care package with some Muggle sweets for a taste of home._ _

__Love,_ _

_Grandad_

__P.S. Don’t forget to have a bit of fun while you’re there. Join a club or something._ _

 

Harry refolded the letter and tucked it and the dicto-quill into his schoolbag. 

“I’ll write a reply and send it off this evening, Hedwig,” Harry informed his owl offering her a rasher of bacon. She hooted dutifully and daintily accepted his offering without any fuss.

Beside him, Luna was unfurling the brand-new issue of _The Quibbler_ that Herne had delivered.

“Anything good?” he asked, eyeing the magazine’s colorful cover. At the moment it was sporting a grainy photograph of a fossilized tornado in the American Midwest.

“Oh, yes,” said Luna, but she was prevented from elaborating by the bell ringing for them to head to class.

It turned out that Harry was very lucky that Luna had gifted him with H. B. Prince’s _Surviving the Dungeon_ for his birthday, because the book’s contents kept him from making a fool of himself quite a few times in his first Potions lesson.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder in the subterranean room than it was up in the main castle and Harry thought that the room would have been quite creepy enough without the countless jars of pickled animals that Professor Snape seemed to be using as his main decorating motif. 

At the Welcoming Feast, Harry hadn’t quite known what to make of the Potions Master. He knew the man was part of Dumbledore’s Old Crowd, but as the lesson went on it became apparent that any of Professor Snape’s good will towards his fellow wizards only went so far as helping to ensure that an evil Dark Wizard didn’t take over the country and did not mean that he was a nice teacher or even a pleasant individual.

Professor Snape, like Professor Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll, and like the Charms teacher, he paused at Harry’s name.

“Ah, yes,” he said softly. “Harry Potter. Our new – _celebrity_."

Draco Malfoy and his cronies Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Professor Snape finished the roll call with “Blaise Zabini,” and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid’s, but that were the similarities ended. Where Hagrid’s eyes were warm and kind, the Potion Master’s were cold and empty. Bringing to mind dark tunnels or a sealed crypt.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making,” he began, his voice was a rich baritone and yet he spoke in little more than a whisper. Nevertheless, they caught ever word – like Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape had the same gift of keeping a class silent and attentive without effort. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe that this is magic. I don’t expect those of you without the proper predisposition to understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes or the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses…. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death – that is if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

More silence followed this pronouncement. Harry could see Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan exchange mocking looks with raised eyebrows; Neville Longbottom was sunk deep into his seat as though hoping not to be noticed; and Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat looking quite desperate to start proving that she wasn’t a dunderhead. 

“Potter,” said Professor Snape abruptly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

 _Powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?_ Harry mussed, noticing that nearly everyone around him looked rather stumped. The sole exception was Draco Malfoy, who was sporting a sneer of superiority, and Hermione whose hand had shot into the air. 

Harry did know the answer, but only because he had spent so much of his time over the summer reading all the way through to the advanced materials his new textbooks. 

“Powdered root of asphodel added to an infusion of wormwood is the first stage in brewing the Draught of Living Death, sir,” he answered. 

Was that an almost pleased gleam in the Potions Master’s dark eyes that he’d been able to answer such a high-level question? If it was it was there and gone again so fast that Harry wasn’t sure that he had seen it at all. 

“Apparently fame hasn’t completely addled your brains, Mr. Potter,” remarked the professor, then with dark musing he added, “Then again, you may have just gotten lucky, so let’s try again … Mr. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?” 

Hermione stretched her hand into the air as high as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Professor Snape ignored her. This was Harry’s question and he too knew the answer. 

“It’s a stone, sir, that is taken from the stomach of a farm animal like a goat or a cow,” he replied, then remembering just why his grandad kept one in his standard travel kit, added, “Its most common use is that it can counteract most poisons.”

For some reason Professor Snape didn’t seem entirely too pleased with this answer.

“I didn’t ask you for what it was, nor for its uses, Mr. Potter,” he snapped coolly. “And I certainly don’t appreciate showoffs in my class.”

Harry felt a spring of anger begin to bubble up just behind his breast bone. He hadn’t been trying to show off and he didn’t care for the accusation that he had been, he thought as she stared straight ahead into the professor’s dead, black eyes. 

“Let’s see if you can actually answer the question I’m asking you,” Professor Snape went on, breaking the staring contest. His dark eyes focusing on some point just over his left shoulder. “What, Mr. Potter, is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

At this point, Hermione actually stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling, but the professor studiously ignored her quivering hand. 

“It’s the same plant, sir, so there isn’t one.” said Harry, his tone just shy of neutral. Prince’s book had been sure to list common alternative names since apparently some plants could have a whole host of folk names. Monkshood and wolfsbane was also commonly known as aconite, devil’s helmet, blue rocket, and the queen of poisons, just to name a few.

“Finally following directions are we, Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape hummed darkly and Harry could see Malfoy and his cronies sniggering into their hands. He’d like to of seen either Crabbe and Goyle manage half as well if they were the ones being quizzed.

The Potions Master apparently didn’t appreciate any form of mirth in his classroom, because he immediately snapped, “Why are the lot of you not copying that down?” 

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Hermione sat back down looking quite putout that she hadn’t been called on once to display her ability to recite chapter and verse from any and all of her textbooks on command.

“Wow, Harry,” Neville remarked in amazement. “You must know a lot about Potions to have gotten all of those right … I didn’t know any of that except the bit about the aconite – but that’s just on account of my grandad being a Herbologist.” 

“Not too much,” Harry admitted, selecting a roll of parchment and a quill at random from his school bag.

“Mr. Potter, I don’t allow dicto-quills in this classroom as I actually expect my students to pay attention during the lesson,” said Professor Snape, suddenly looming over Harry’s right shoulder and plucking the rune inscribed quill from atop his desk. “I shall be confiscating this for the duration of class and taking a point from Gryffindor to ensure that this doesn’t become repeat behavior.”

The rest of the first half of their double period was spend taking notes, while Professor Snape filled the blackboard at the front of the room with cramp, spidery writing. When the bell rang signaling the start of the Morning Break, those who needed to were allowed leave so that they could visit the nearest lavatory before the second half of class was to begin. 

For the second half of the lesson, Professor Snape split them all into eight groups of two and a single group of three, since there was an odd number of them. Harry supposed that Malfoy being paired with both Crabbe and Goyle wasn’t really unfair to anyone but perhaps the blond, because the combined brain power of his two lackies was _maybe_ equal that of anyone else’s single partner. He then set them to work brewing a simple potion that could cure boils, even though created through magical means, such as a Pimple Jinx. The professor sweeping up and down the aisles between the worktables as they ground snake fangs into a fine power and weighed dried nettles under his critical eye. 

Harry’s own potion was coming along quite well even though Ron, his partner, didn’t seem to have ever used so much as a kitchen knife, never mind a potioneer one, before in his life. The slices of pungous onion he’d contributed to the recipe having come out unequal in size and quiet a bit thicker than Harry’s own.

They had just finished extinguishing the fire from beneath their cauldron so that they could add the pair of porcupine quills that would finished it when acid green smoke and a loud hissing abruptly filled the dungeon. 

The noise was coming from Neville and Seamus’s workstation where the sandy-haired boy’s cauldron had become a melted wreck; their potion spilling out from the twisted blob and sweeping across the stone floor as it burned holes into people’s shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing atop their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in agony as angry red boils sprang up all over his visible skin.

“Confound it!” Professor Snape snarled, clearing the spilled potion away with one low sweeping wave of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Neville could only whimper as boils began to pop up all over his nose. Seamus, however, was looking quite indignant. 

“No,” he snapped. “We didn’t even get a chance to before a great bundle went and landed in it.”

“What did you say, Finnigan,” hissed the Potions Master, and the class became deathly silent save for Neville’s whimpers of pain.

Professor Snape’s dark eyes bore into Seamus’s blue-green as though he could pluck the truth from the sandy-haired boy’s mind.

“I said, _sir_ , that we didn’t have a chance to add the quills,” Seamus snapped belligerently.

“A point for you tone, Finnigan,” Professor Snape snapped. “Now take Longbottom up to the Hospital Wing.”

As Seamus bustled Neville out of the dungeon, Professor Snape eyed the lot of them – Gryffindors and Slytherins – with probing eyes. The majority of the class, even those who had been too far away to have tampered with Neville and Seamus’s potion, were shuffling about nervously.

“If I ever find out who sabotaged this potion I will make their punishment as severe as I am able to make it, do I make myself clear,” he snarled at them forebodingly. “Potions brewing can often be a deadly art and I will not tolerate any such behavior in my classroom. Those caught endangering the lives of their fellow classmates will be removed from this class and not permitted to return.”

The remainder of the period was filled with nervous energy as the students with surviving potions bottled and labeled them, then placed their work up on Professor Snape’s desk for grading.

“I bet you it was Malfoy,” Ron remarked at the end of class as they all began climbing the stairs up and out of the dungeons. “He looked awful pleased when Neville’s potion blew up in his face.”

“But why would Malfoy try to sabotage _Neville’s_ cauldron,” Luna asked once Harry had finished recounting his morning potions lesson to her.

The pair of them were sitting on the plinth of a statue the harpy, Celaeno, in the courtyard as they ate Cornish pasties. 

“No clue,” Harry admitted. “He could just like to be a bullying git – or maybe he was aiming Ron and I’s potion. We were working at the table just behind them after all.”

“It’s possible,” she agreed, but from the unfocused cast of her eyes she was pondering something else. “What was that first question Professor Snape asked you again?”

“‘ _What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood_ ,’” Harry repeated. “Why?”

“ _I bitterly regret Lily’s death_ ,” Luna murmured vaguely.

“What?” he asked sharply.

“Asphodel are a type of lily that mean ‘my regrets follow you to the grave’ and wormwood means ‘absence’ but they can also symbolize bitter sorrow, so ‘I bitterly regret Lily’s death,’” Luna explained. “My Great-Grandmother on my mum’s side was a Muggle-born, so she knew lot about the language of flowers and taught it to me, too.”

“So, was Snape trying to wish me condolences or something, then,” Harry wondered feeling more than a little confused.

~¤~¤~¤~

As soon as the bell rang signaling the end of classes for the day, Harry and Luna were out the door and making their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small, circular wooden house with a thatched roof at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. As they approached, Harry could see a crossbow and a pair of Hagrid-sized wellington boots outside the front door.

Harry knocked on the door and nearly jumped out of his skin as a frantic scrabbling came from inside followed by several booming barks. Then Hagrid’s voice rang out, saying, “ _Back_ , Fang – _back_.” 

Hagrid’s big, bearded face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open. 

“Hang on,” he said. “ _Back_ , Fang.”

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold of the collar encircling the neck of a enormous black boarhound.

There was only one, large room inside Hagrid’s house and it was quite cozy. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling; a copper kettle was boiling over the open fire, and against one wall stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

“Make yerselves at home,” said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Luna and started licking her ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked. 

“This is Luna Lovegood,” said Harry introducing the blonde girl. “I hope you don’t mind me inviting her.”

“Not at all,” said Hagrid as the large man busied himself pouring the now boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate. “How are the both of yeh gettin’ along with yer housemates?”

“Well enough,” said Harry accepting the potbellied mug of tea from Hagrid that was easily the size of a tankard. “Dean Thomas’s Muggle-born so he’s constantly asking the rest of us about the magical world; Neville Longbottom’s nice, but painfully shy; and Seamus Finnigan and Ron Weasley spend most of their time talking about Quidditch…”

“Another Weasley,” said Hagrid with a rueful shake of his head. “I swear I feel like I’ve spent half me life chasin’ those twins away from the forest … but they’re a good lot – the Weasleys … I liked Charlie especially – great with animals.”

“Ron says he’s studying dragons in Romania,” said Harry, taking a bite from one of the rock cakes and instantly regretting it as the rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that lived up to their name, but not wishing to be rude Harry pretended to enjoy them.

Luna actually seemed to be enjoying hers as she was softening them by first dipping them into her tea. In any case she didn’t seem to have much to say about her dormmates.

Hagrid asked them all about their first lessons and how they were liking the castle. As they talked Fang rested his large head on Harry’s knee and drooled all over his robes. 

Harry and Luna were both delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch “that old git.”

“An’ as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I’d like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D’yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can’t get rid of her – Filch puts her up to it, he does.” 

Harry told Hagrid about his potions class and Professor Snape’s bought of temper at the thought of someone sabotaging another students’ cauldron. 

“I keep hearing people say he favors his House, but he was scrutinizing them just as closely as he was us. So I don’t get where this is coming from?”

“Eh, Snape don't care much fer anyone, but endanger any of his students in front of him and there’ll be hell ter pay,” said Hagrid darkly. “Though I have ter say I’m surprised ter hear you taken up fer him … wouldn’t have thought the two of yeh would have got along.”

“Why’s that?” Harry asked curiously, but for some reason Hagrid seemed to be avoiding his gaze.

“It’s nothing,” he remarked with a rueful shake of the head. “Forget I said anythin’ … How was yer Potions lesson, Luna?”

Harry couldn’t help thinking that Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose.

While Luna walked Hagrid though her own significantly less explosive lesson, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the _Daily Prophet_ :

 

**Gringotts Break-In Latest**

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown._

__Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier the same day._ _

___“But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts spokes-goblin this afternoon when questioned._ _ _

 

“You don’t suppose the break-in was happening while we were at Gringotts, do you,” Harry asked, setting the cutting back down on the table.

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid was definitely avoiding Harry’s eyes this time. Instead of answering he just grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. _The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day_. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call taking that grubby little package out of it emptying it. Had that been what the thief had been looking for?

As Harry and Luna walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they’d been too polite to refuse, Harry thought that none of the lessons he’d had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Dumbledore had Hagrid collect that package just in time? What was it? And where was it now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably going to be the last chapter I manage to load before my fall semester starts up and I have no idea how my school schedule is going to effect the speed of future up-dates. So, so much reading is in my future. Just one of my classes has five novels on the booklist.


	9. Something to Sing About

_Join a club or something_ , Grandad’s last letter had said, but while that wasn’t necessarily something easier said than done. After all, the noticeboard in Gryffindor Tower had been wallpapered with a plethora of signup sheets and club flyers over the course of the first week of term. It was something that would take a fair bit of consideration. 

There were several academic clubs, such as the ones for Astronomy and Charms, but they were really more like formal study groups than anything _fun_. Still the Ancient Runes Club had sounded interesting until Harry had discovered that it was only open to third-years and above. 

Then there was the Future Potioneers Club, which met in a disused dungeon classroom that could only be reached through a door on the sixth floor of the West Tower. This had also turned out to be a no go for the simple fact that Malfoy had already joined.

 _No thanks_ , Harry thought, backing out of the room before the blond could see him. Twice a week was more than enough time spent in close proximity to Malfoy. He had no desire to spend his leisure time with the Slytherin as well. 

There were also a few clubs where students got together to play games. Such as, the Gobstones Club, which met up in the Viaduct Courtyard to play a game that was quite similar to the Muggle game of marbles except for the fact that whenever a player lost a point the winning stone would proceed to squirt the loser in the face with a foul-smelling liquid. Harry gave this too a pass. He didn’t much care for being blasted in the face with something that smelled like the unholy union of rancid manure and petrol even if Luna did say that Gobstone fluid was good for the complexion. 

The other gaming club was for Wizard’s Chess, which was exactly like Muggle Chess save for the fact that the chessmen had been enchanted to move. The youngest Weasley brother had joined this club and if rumors were to believed he was quite the prodigious player. Harry himself was no great shakes at chess for the simple fact that he found it extremely difficult to sacrifice his pieces in order to win and that was with non-animated Muggle chessmen. Wizarding chessmen who could talk and developed a bit of personality over the years were even more difficult to send to their deaths. 

And the final group that had caught Harry’s eye was the Wizard Card Collectors’ Club, but he seriously doubted he’d be welcome with his grand total of six cards. 

“Are you going to join the knitting club?” Harry asked Luna as the settled in to eat lunch at the Gryffindor table that Saturday.

Luna merely shook her head.

“I went to the meeting this morning and Knitting Club is a bit of a misnomer – it’s really a Witch’s Stitch and Bitch,” she explained causing Harry to choke on his tea.

“ _What?_ ” he hacked.

“Well it is. Everyone just sat around complaining about something or other. Like Andrea Kegworth, the Head Girl – she spent the whole meeting grumbling how her boyfriend left her after she knitted him a jumper over the summer.”

“Was there something wrong with it?” Harry asked.

“Aside from the boyfriend jumper curse – no it was a lovely shade of chartreuse,” Luna replied breezily. “Nevertheless, it was a lot of negative energy in one room. I’d be worried to give anyone anything I’d created in such an environment without doing a cleansing first.”

 _Yikes_ , Harry thought ruefully shaking his head.

“Oh, and speaking of cleansing rituals,” she went on. “Daddy included the instructions for making a really good gris-gris bag that he got from an American witch in the last issue of _The Quibbler_. Apparently, it can even temporarily disperse the chaotic energies of a poltergeist.”

“Reckon it would work on Peeves?” Harry asked with interest.

The poltergeist had managed to sneak up behind Harry on his way down to breakfast just that morning and had latched a hold of his nose with a screech of, “GOT YOUR CONK!”

The shout Harry had let out when confronted with this invisible assailant – through instinct alone – had resonated with Kibeth the Walker. Given the mischievous nature of that tricksome bell even when properly rung, Harry had been lucky that all that had happened was his legs (and those of every other living soul) giving a little twitch as he half-skipped a step away from the poltergeist. Every ghost that had been within hearing distance had been less fortunate and had been banished off to the far corners of the castle. Even Peeves hadn’t been completely immune.

Luna cocked her head in a considering manner.

“We could always try it out,” she said finally, then out of the blue she added, “You should try out for the Inter-House Choir. Professor Flitwick mentioned that they are looking for new blood this year when he put the sign-up sheet on the noticeboard yesterday morning.”

“I don’t know,” Harry hedged. The only people he’d ever really sung in front of were his grandad and Fea.

“I’m sure you’ll do well,” Luna coaxed. “It is in your blood after all.”

 _Now that just isn’t fair_ , Harry thought mulishly, but aloud he agreed.

~¤~¤~¤~

Tryouts for the Inter-House Choir were being held that afternoon in the Music Room on the fifth floor of the castle. It was a bright and airy room with a low stage along the back wall, a blackboard across the wall opposite it, and an upright piano just off to one side.

Professor Flitwick was already there as were eleven other students when Harry and Luna arrived. Three of which were fellow first years. While the remaining eight were a mixed bunch of upper classmen from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin if the colors of their stripped neckties were any indication. This left Harry as the only Gryffindor in the room until second year Carl Hopkins walked in with his friend Scott Ancrum of Ravenclaw.

“Ah, wonderful, wonderful, it’s so good to see new faces joining us this evening,” proclaimed Professor Flitwick when it became apparent that there would be no one else joining them; their final number having grown to fifteen.

“Now,” he went on. “I believe I shall have our returning members introduce themselves to our newcomers – Name, House and year, if you please. Meanwhile, our five new first years can do a bit a bit of last minute rumination on what they’re going to be singing us. We’ll be starting on the left side of the room and making our way to the right.”

The diminutive wizard then pointed first to the oldest looking boy in the room. 

“I’m Gabriel Truman,” he said with a cheerful smile. “I’m a fifth year and one of the new Hufflepuff prefects.”

Next to him, dark-haired Carl Hopkins mumbled, “Um, I’m Carl – Carl Hopkins and I’m a second year Gryffindor –” he cast a furtive look in Harry’s direction. “And it’s nice to see another Gryffindor joining us.”

The sandy-haired boy beside him, then chimed in, “Scott Ancrum. I’m in Ravenclaw and am also a second year.” 

The professor point to an olive skinned brunette next. 

“I’m Patricia Stimpson, third year Ravenclaw,” she said in snotty sort of voice. “I intend to be the next Celestina Warbeck.”

Apparently, this was a common declaration because several of the returning members of the choir all groaned and rolled their eyes; earning themselves a frosty glare from the girl.

Next up was a pair of identical solemn faced twins from Slytherin with cinnamon colored hair. 

“Flora,” said the first.

“Hestia,” intoned the second.

“We’re second year Slytherins,” they proclaimed in stereo.

After that a pudgy boy beside Hestia introduced himself as: “Marcus Belby, second year Ravenclaw.” 

A burly looking boy to his right then introduced himself as “Lucian Bole – fourth year Slytherin –” 

“– and new Slytherin Beater,” cut in the curly haired boy beside him, earning himself a rather putout look from Lucian Bole.

“We don’t know that yet,” he hissed, “Flint ain’t announced the new team members yet.”

The curly haired boy just shrugged as if to say, _so?_ Which earned him a light swat from the mousy haired girl beside him. 

“Quidditch later,” she hissed at him. “Introduction now.”

“Alright, alright keep your hair on Entwhistle,” he grumbled. “I’m Peregrine Derrick and also Slytherin Fourth year – as well as a prospective Beater for the House team.”

The girl – Entwhistle – just rolled her eyes.

“I’m Annabel,” she said after a moment. “Fourth year Hufflepuff and minder of these two knuckleheads.”

“Good, good,” said Professor Flitwick. “Now, I’ll call our newcomers up. Please introduce both yourself and tell us the name of the song you’ll be singing for us.”

First up was Sally-Anne Perks of Hufflepuff.

“Um, I’ll be singing ‘Five Little Pumpkins’,” she mumbled, tugging at the end of one of her plaited pigtails. Then after clearing her throat with a little cough, she began to sing, her voice bubbly and bright:

 

“ _Five little pumpkins sitting on a gate,_

_First one said “Oh my, it’s getting late!”_

_Second one said “There are witches in the air,”_

_Third one said “but we don’t care!”_

_Fourth one said “Let’s run and run and run.”_

_Fifth one said “I’m ready for some fun!”_

_Ooo ooo went the wind, and out went the lights,_

_And five little pumpkins rolled out of sight._ ”

 

As she finished there was a round of applause with Professor Flitwick clapping the most enthusiastically.

“Bravo, Miss Perks,” he squeaked, then directed her to take a seat by Gabriel Truman. “Now, Mr. Terry Boot, you’re up next.”

Terry Boot strode forward with a nervous grin.

“I’ll be singing the Puddlemere United anthem if that’s alright,” he said. “Or at least the first bit cause you kind of need a crowd for the last of it, you know?”

The was a smattering of laughter all around, then Terry, after tapping his foot a few times to get his rhythm right he began:

 

“ _From the marshy bogs of Queerditch_

_Grew a sport so fine and fair_

_In which each witch and wizard_

_Would take flight through the air._

_We sit and watch in wonder_

_At each game the players play_

_And dream our team will reign supreme_

_Thus we cannot help but say…_

_Beat back those Bludgers, boys, and chuck that Quaffle here_

_No team can ever best the best of Puddlemere!_

_You’ll catch that Golden Snitch with the easiest of ease_

_Grab your Beater’s bat and in no time flat_

_Prove the game is yours to seize!_

_Beat back those Bludgers, boys, and chuck that Quaffle here_

_Those noble navy robes know not one once of fear_

_Won’t see them blaggin, blatching or blurting on their brooms_

_Playing by the rules, they’re nobody’s fools_

_Other teams will meet their dooms!_ ”

 

He, too, finished to a round of applause, but also some good-natured heckling from the two Slytherins, Bole and Derrick. 

“No, not Puddlemere – Ballycastle Bats is where it’s at,” Bole groaned, only to be swatted by Derrick.

“Yeah, only if you’ve never heard of Falmouth Falcons.”

Once the hubbub had died down it was Daphne Greengrass of Slytherins turn. She was a proud, haughty looking girl, who stared them all down imperiously before declaring that she would be singing the Fair Maid of Loch Lomond.

And so, while Daphne Greengrass sung a ballad about a witch who’d fallen in love with a merman only for it to end in tragedy after he accidentally ate her after she’d transfigured herself into a haddock so that they could be together, Harry was left wondering just what song he should be doing when it was his turn. The only songs he knew by heart were some Christmas carols (which felt weird to sing out of season) and way more murder ballads than anyone should probably admit to knowing … he blamed Fea for that … and living in Midsomer, too…

It was only Harry and Luna now. As the applause for Daphne tapered off the professor motioned for Luna to go and stand in the space the Slytherin had vacated. She surveyed the assembled students in her usual vacant and unblinking manner, causing a few to shift uncomfortably if her gaze landed on them for too long.

“I’ve never really sung in front of anyone but my shampoo bottles before,” she informed them dreamily. “They’ve never complained, but they don’t have ears either.”

Patricia Stimpson scoffed.

“The song I’ll be singing is an older one called ‘Blind Pig’,” Luna went on, then she opened her mouth and surprised them all with the low, throaty quality of her voice as she sung her jazzy tune:

 

“ _The phoenix cried fat tears of pearl_

_When the dragon snapped up his best girl,_

_And the Billywig forgot to twirl_

_When his sweetheart left him cold,_

_And the unicorn done lost his horn,_

_And the Hippogriff feels all forlorn,_

_‘Cause their lady loves have upped and gawn,_

_Or that’s what I’ve been told…_

_Yes, love has set the beasts astir,_

_The dang’rous and the meek concur,_

_It’s ruffled feathers, fleece, and fur,_

_‘Cause love drives all of us wild._ ”

 

As she wound to a close applause flooded the room; the loudest and most enthusiastic yet.

“Bravo, Miss Lovegood,” Professor Flitwick praised her. “Well done. Very well done.”

Luna gave a small curtsy and rejoined Harry at his place by the wall. There was a decidedly pleased flush staining her cheeks and her grey eyes were almost luminous.

“That was my mum’s favorite,” she whispered, low enough so as to not be overheard.

“Mr. Potter, your turn,” called Professor Flitwick and with leaden feet Harry walked to the center of the room.

There was a fair bit of staring and a faint mutter of whispering as Harry stood before them, but he had grown used to this over his first week at the castle. He did, however, feel less nervous standing in front of this lot than he had at his sorting in front of the entire school.

“Erm … this song is called ‘Blackbird’ and it’s by the Muggle group The Beatles,” he explained, then began to sing:

 

“ _Blackbird singing in the dead of night_

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_

_All your life_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise_

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_

_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see_

_All your life_

_You were only waiting for this moment to be free_

_Blackbird fly, blackbird fly_

_Into the light of the dark black night_

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_

_All your life_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise._ ”

 

The applause he received was generous and there was a speculative murmur amongst the choir members as Harry returned to Luna’s side. 

“I wouldn’t have thought Harry Potter could sing,” said Scott Ancrum in a loud whisper to Carl Hopkins.

“I heard him at the Welcoming Feast and thought he sounded pretty good then,” Carl replied. “You reckon he’ll make it in?”

“Oh, please,” scoffed Hestia Carrow. “Flitwick lets anybody in as long as they don’t sound like a cat being murdered in a sack.”

“And none of those firsties sound Mister Fluffykins after Aunt Alecto got a hold of him,” Flora added.

The Carrow twins were correct as all five of the first years were allow to become members and in no time at all Professor Flitwick was passing out sheet music for the song they would be preforming at the Hallowe’en Feast.

“Since we’ve got just under two months to prepare we’re just going to do the one song,” he explained. “And no solos Miss Stimpson –” he added when Patricia opened her mouth. She looked most putout at this announcement. “Rehearsals will take place three times a week and I can add an extra on Saturdays if necessary as the thirty-first approaches. Furthermore, if any scheduling conflicts arise as the Quidditch season approaches, please be sure to let me know.”

This last was said to Bole and Derrick specifically and the pair nodded. 

As everyone began to trickle out of the Music Room so that they could make their way down to the Great Hall for dinner, Professor Flitwick held Harry back for a moment.

“I was surprised to see you here, Mr. Potter,” he squeaked. “Pleased, but surprised. Your mother Lily had a wonderful singing voice, too.”

~¤~¤~¤~

News got around quite quickly about Harry joining the Inter-House Choir and the reaction was generally positive if a bit confused as to why The Boy Who Lived would join such a group.

“I figured he would have joined a Dueling Club or something,” Harry overheard more than a few students muttering amongst themselves – never mind that there hadn’t been a Dueling Club at the school in years. Or at least, “Not since Ralph Weasley turned Emily Tylers ears into a pair of kumquats,” according to Luna. 

Draco Malfoy seemed to find the whole thing very funny and spend most of their next Astronomy lesson asking Harry if he was going to _serenade_ them while his two cronies sniggered into their hands.

Still Harry couldn’t complain too much. Gryffindors only saw the Slytherins twice a week in Astronomy and Potions lessons. Luna had it even worse as the Ravenclaws shared Herbology with the Slytherins three times a week. 

Or at least that was the status quo until a new noticed was pinned up in the Common Rooms and Entrance Hall – Flying lessons would be beginning the third week of term. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff on Wednesdays and Gryffindor and Slytherin on Thursdays. 

“Do we have to attend if we already know how to fly,” Harry muttered grumpily. He’d been looking forward getting back on a broomstick even if it was one of the dodgy old school ones.

“You have to pass flying lessons if you want permission to bring your broomstick with you next year.” Luna informed him, then added consolingly. “And who knows maybe you’ll test out after the first lesson while Malfoy tries to mount his broomstick backwards.”

“Did you See this,” he asked curiously as blonde had been known to see portents in her soup before, but instead of answering she just smiled enigmatically.

Somehow Harry doubted that Malfoy didn’t know which end of a broom to mount not with the way the other boy talked about flying all the time. The blond could often be heard complaining loudly about first years never getting on the House Quidditch teams and he often told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. 

Not that he was the only one. A lot of people talked about flying. If Seamus Finnigan was to be believed he’d spend most of his childhood zooming around the Irish countryside on his broomstick. And Ron Weasley would tell anyone who’d listen about the time he’d almost hit a hang glider on his brother Charlie’s old broom.

All the talk of flying, however, was nothing when compared to the amount people talked about Quidditch. In fact, the very first row in the boys’ dorm had been between Ron and Dean about which sport – football or Quidditch – was better. They’d been decorating their portion of the circular dorm room when the argument had broken out. Ron Weasley vehemently pointing out as he pinned up a brilliantly orange Chudley Cannon poster that no game with only one ball and where no one was allowed to fly could possibly be interesting.

“Even the football posters are boring,” he’d added, prodding Dean’s unmoving West Ham poster.

Things had devolved even further when Seamus had pointed out that at least his team – the Kenmare Kestrels – wasn’t last in the league. 

Even the upper years seemed to have nothing more than the wizarding world’s favorite sport on the brain as the start of the season began to creep ever closer. And the Quidditch trials the week before had only spurred the talk on. 

Cormac McLaggen could often be heard loudly complaining to his friend, Everett Higgs, about how the Gryffindor team’s Captain still hadn’t gotten back to him about being the new Gryffindor Seeker.

“– Wood obviously can’t recognize pure talent when he sees it,” he’d blustered, his face a shade of puce that would have made Uncle Vernon proud.

Not everyone was looking forward to the first year flying lessons, however. Neville, despite being as much of a Quidditch fan as anyone else, had never been on a broomstick before in his life. Not even a toy one that only hovered high enough for the rider’s toes to skim the ground, because his grandmother had thought it too dangerous. Privately, Harry felt she wasn’t completely out of line with this assessment, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground. 

As for the first-year girls of Gryffindor only Hermione Granger was as nervous about flying as Neville. Fay Dunbar and Lavender Brown had both grown up with toy broomsticks and Parvati Patil’s family were well known manufactures of Flying Carpets back in India.

“Not that they’re allowed in Britain anymore with the Registry of Charmable Objects now listing them as ‘Muggle Artefacts’,” she huffed.

The Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff flying lesson had apparently gone well on Wednesday evening. Although Luna had apparently driven the instructor, Madam Hooch, spar with her insistence of riding her broomstick sidesaddle. 

“It’s more comfortable if the Cushioning Charm fails,” she told Harry during their midnight Astronomy lesson. “Plus, you don’t have to worry about any of the boys looking up your skirt.”

It was also during their late-night Astronomy lesson that Parvati’s twin sister, Padma, managed to make both Hermione and Neville into a pair of even worse nervous wrecks about flying as she told them all about how Muggle-born, Kevin Entwhistle, had had to be rescued by Madam Hooch when his broomstick got away from him during their lesson.

And so, Hermione spent the entirety of breakfast the morning of their first flying lesson boring them all stupid with flying tips she’d gotten from a library book called _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Neville, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick, had been hanging on to her every word, but everyone else was rather pleased when Hermione’s lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the post. 

Harry had sent off another letter to his grandad letting him know that he and Luna had both joined the choir, but hadn’t received a reply yet. Malfoy the noisy parker that he was seemed particularly interested in just who Harry was writing to, but that morning he was thankfully preoccupied with gloatingly opening yet another package of sweets his eagle owl had brought him from home.

Neville had also received post that morning, too. A grumpy looking barn owl had brought him a small package from his grandmother, which he’d opened excitedly to show them a glass ball the size of a gobstone taw that appeared to be full of white smoke.

“It’s a Remembrall!” he explained. “Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there’s something you’ve forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh, dear…” His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, “… you’ve forgotten something.” 

Harry wondered if the Remembrall actually helped you to remember what it was you’d forgotten, but decided that it apparently didn’t as Neville heaved a sigh of defeat as he failed to recall whatever it was he’d forgotten.

Neville had just loosened his grip on the Remembrall when Draco Malfoy, who was passing by the Gryffindor table, abruptly snatched it out of his hand.

Harry and the other Gryffindor boys jumped to their feet. All of them had one reason or another to want to pick a fight with Malfoy. Seamus, because he was convinced it was Malfoy who’d chucked the porcupine quills into his cauldron their first Potions lesson, and Ron, because Malfoy just couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut about the redhaired boy’s family and their financial state.

But nothing actually happened, because Professor Snape seemed to have a sixth sense for when one of his Slytherins was about to receive a pounding.

“What’s this?” he murmured silkily, looking them each over with his dark eyes.

Neville sunk low in his seat as the Potions Master’s eyes landed on him, and so it was Dean who actually spoke up.

“Malfoy took Neville’s Remembrall, Professor,” he said.

“Mr. Malfoy please return Mr. Longbottom’s property to him,” the professor instructed. “I dare say he’ll be needing it.”

Looking most putout, Malfoy dropped the Remembrall back on the table, then he slouched off with Crabbe and Goyle following along behind him.

~¤~¤~¤~

At half past three that afternoon, Harry and the other Gryffindors bustled down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was the perfect day for flying. The sky was clear and the faint breeze that was blowing was only enough to cause the grass to ripple under their feet, so there was little chance of anyone being blown off course.

Flying Lessons were being held on a flat stretch of lawn not too far from the Herbology greenhouses and just opposite the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were a couple dozen broomsticks laying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard just about everyone complained about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high; or they always few slightly to the left; or their Cushioning Charm was beginning to wear thin. 

It wasn’t long before their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, spiky hair, and the yellow eyes of a hawk.

“Good afternoon, class,” she barked brusquely striding up to them.

“Good afternoon, Madam Hooch,” the class intoned as she passed.

She came to a stop at the head of the line of broomsticks and turned to face them, her yellow eyes shining with boundless enthusiasm.

“Welcome to your first flying lesson,” she greeted. “Well what are you waiting for? Everyone step up to a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was an old Tinderblast whose tail twigs were sticking out at odd angles. 

“Stick out your wand hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch,” and say ‘Up!’”

“UP!” everyone shouted.

Harry’s broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione Granger’s had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville’s hadn’t moved at all. As with all magic, intent and confidence could often be key whilst casting and there was a definite quaver in Neville’s voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet firmly on the ground. 

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and then she walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. There were only a few hiccups. Like Luna, a couple of the Slytherin girls – Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis – insisted on seating themselves sidesaddle across the handle of their brooms. And then, to Harry’s delight, Madam Hooch informed Malfoy that he’d been doing it wrong for years.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, I want you to kick off from the ground hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, hover for a moment, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –”

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had a chance to even touch Madam Hooch’s lips.

“Come back, boy!” she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and –

“ _Aresto Momentum!_ ” Madam Hooch bellowed whipping out her wand as quick as a flash and jabbing it in the direction of Neville’s rapidly falling form. The spell seemed to slow Neville’s decent, but not nearly enough, because –

WHAM – with a thud and a nasty crack Neville was lying face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and starting to drift lazily toward the Forbidden Forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch immediately jogged over to where Neville had landed, her face was just white as his. 

“Oh dear,” Harry heard her tutting, but was relieved to hear her pronouncement that Neville had only broken his wrist.

“Come on now, up you get,” said Madam Hooch helping Neville to his feet. “It’s all right.”

She turned to the rest of the class.

“Everyone is to keep their feet firmly on the ground while I take Mr. Longbottom up to the hospital wing! Understand? If I see a single broom in the air the one riding it will be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on, dear.”

Neville’s face was tear-streaked as he hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him. Harry winced in sympathy as he noticed the unnatural angle of Neville’s wrist. 

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter. 

“Did you see his face, the great lump?”

Several of the other Slytherins joined in.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” snapped Parvati Patil.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. “Never thought _you’d_ like fat little crybabies, Parvati.”

“Look!” said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s grandmother sent him.”

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up. 

“Maybe if he’d given this a squeeze he’d have remember to fall on his fat arse,” Malfoy snickered cruelly.

And that was it. Harry had had enough. 

“Give it here, Malfoy,” he told the blond coolly as the other students suddenly became quite quiet.

Malfoy smiled nastily. 

“No, I don’t think so, Potter,” he said, then after a moment of mock pondering, added, “I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find… Maybe up a tree?”

“Give it _here_!” Harry shouted, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off.

Incorrect grip or not – he hadn’t been lying, he could fly well. He soared back towards the castle and began hovering so that he was level with the topmost branches of an enormous oak tree.

“If you want it so bad come and get it, Potter!” he shouted.

Harry grabbed the old Tinderblast and swung a leg over the knobbly handle. 

“ _No!_ ” hissed Hermione Granger. “Madam Hooch told us not to move – you’ll get us all into trouble.”

Harry ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. He kicked off hard from the ground and up he soared; air rushing through his hair as his robes whipped out behind him. For once there was no bubbling joy at being in the air. Instead he was filled with a fierce desire to pay Malfoy back for being such a bullying git. 

He gave the handle of the Tinderblast a sharp jerk to take it even higher and heard screams and gasp from the Gryffindors and Slytherins on the ground as he shot upwards. Then, he turned the broomstick sharply so that he was fact to face with Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned.

“Give it here,” Harry called, “or I’ll knock you off that broom!”

“Oh yeah?” said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Maybe giving him a bit of a fright is the way to go, Harry thought as he leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands. Instantly he shot towards Malfoy like an arrow. The blond scrambled as he tried to get out of the way, but was left spinning like a top midair as Harry shot past him. He then swung his broom to do a sharp about-face so that he was hovering level a couple of meters away from Malfoy.

On the ground Ron and Seamus each gave an admiring whoop and several people were clapping. 

“No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy,” Harry taunted.

The same thought seemed to have struck Malfoy. 

“Catch it if you can, then!” he shouted, and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground. 

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down – next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball – wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching – he stretched out his hand – a foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

“HARRY POTTER!”

Harry winced; his heart sinking faster than he’d just dove. Professor McGonagall was running towards them; her emerald green robes flapping behind her as hurried across the castle lawn.

“ _Never_ – in all my time at Hogwarts –” she managed to splutter. “– how _dare_ you – might have broken your neck –”

The first year Gryffindors were quick to jump to Harry’s defense, however. 

“It wasn’t his fault, Professor,” protested Parvati.

But Professor McGonagall was having none of it. Her glasses were flashing furiously as she told Parvati to be quiet.

“But it was Malfoy’s fault,” Ron began and he too was silence.

“That’s enough you lot,” she said before rounding on Harry. “Mr. Potter, follow me, now.”

Harry caught sight of Malfoy and his cronies’ triumphant faces as he was led away. Following along numbly in Professor McGonagall’s wake as she strode toward the castle. 

This wasn’t just going to be a loss of House points, he just knew it. This was going to be detention or a suspension – or what if she decided to expel him instead? He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice.

Professor McGonagall was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Up the front steps, up the marble staircase inside, but still the professor didn’t say a word to him.

They didn’t stop where Harry had expected them to at Professor McGonagall’s office on the first floor. Instead she wrenched open doors and marched along corridors as they headed farther up into the castle. All the while with Harry trotting along miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking him to Dumbledore.

But apparently that wasn’t their destination either as they finally came to a stop in front the door to the Charms classroom on the third floor. As Harry pondered just what on earth she would want with Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall opened the door and poked her head inside.

“Excuse me,” she called. “I need to borrow Mr. Wood for a moment.”

 _Wood?_ Harry wondered, bewildered; did she mean the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. What did him getting in trouble have to do with the other boy? 

Wood looked just as confused as Harry felt when he immerged from the Charms Classroom. 

“Follow me, you two,” said Professor McGonagall, as the three of them set off up the corridor. The burly fifth year staring curiously at Harry as they went.

“In here,” she ordered, directing them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

“Out, Peeves!” she barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out swearing foully. Professor McGonagall slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

“Potter, this is Oliver Wood,” she introduced, then to the fifth year she added, “Wood – I’ve found you a Seeker.”

Wood’s expression changed from puzzlement to delight. 

“Are you serious, Professor?” he gasped.

“Absolutely,” said Professor McGonagall crisply. “The boy’s a natural. I’ve never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?”

Harry shook his head mutely. He didn’t have a clue what was going on, but he didn’t seem to be being expelled; slowly he could feel his innards begin to unknot themselves.       

“He caught that thing in his hand after a fifty-foot dive,” Professor McGonagall told Wood. “Didn’t even scratch himself. Charlie Weasley couldn’t have done it.”

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once. 

“Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?” he asked excitedly.

Harry shook his head again. 

“Wood’s captain of the Gryffindor team,” Professor McGonagall explained.

“He’s just the build for a Seeker, too,” Wood proclaimed, he was now walking around Harry and examining him. “We’ve got to make sure he has a decent broom, Professor – a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I’d say … though, the Avis Company’s produced a fair few gems the past few years too … so maybe one of their Scarlet Falcons….”

“Don’t worry, Wood,” she informed the older boy. “I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can’t bend the first-year rule like we did for Miss Bell. Goodness knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn’t look Severus Snape in the face for weeks….” 

Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.

“I want to hear you’re training hard, Potter,” she said firmly, “or I may change my mind about punishing you.”

Then she smiled suddenly and added, “Your father would have been proud. He was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, too.”

~¤~¤~¤~

“Harry, why am I hearing rumors about you having been expelled,” Luna asked, as he slid into a seat beside her in the Great Hall.

However, before he could answer the duo was set upon by Ron, Seamus and Dean – all of who were demanding to know what had happened after he’d left the grounds with Professor McGonagall.

“You weren’t expelled where you?” asked Dean anxiously.

“They can’t have,” burst Ron. “You’re … well _you_ – and they can’t go expelling you from Hogwarts, can they?”

“Oy, you lot belt up and let him tell us what happened,” Seamus demanded shushing the others, then asking Harry, “but you _weren’t_ expelled, right?”

“No, no, I wasn’t expelled,” he assured them all and the whole story came tumbling out: the march up the castle, meeting Wood, the bending of the first-year broom rule, his being made Seeker, and most importantly – his not being expelled. 

“You’re _joking_ ,” gaped Ron in admiration. “ _Seeker?_ But first years _never_ – you must be the youngest house player in about –”

“ – a century,” said Harry. “Wood told me.”

“ _Unbelievable!_ ” beamed Seamus.

“Cool,” said Dean.

Harry smiled a bit sheepishly at their obvious amazement. 

“I start training next week,” he told them. “Only please don’t tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret.”

“How does Wood plan on keeping a lid on something like this?” Dean remarked dryly and Harry had to admit the West Ham fan had a point. Rumors had a tendency of moving through Hogwarts faster than diarrhea through a toucan.

“Will Wood be cross that you’ve told me,” Luna queried after Harry’s dormmates drifted off.

Harry could only shrug. “Even if he is I was still going to tell you,” he said. 

The duo was halfway through their dinner when Fred and George Weasley entered the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over. They each had identical grins on their freckled faces.      

“Well done, Harry,” said George in a low voice. “Wood told us. Er –”

Their grins slipped slightly when they saw Luna sitting beside Harry, but they returned full force when he said, “Don’t worry she already knows.”

“Breaking the rules already, Harry?” Fred scolded teasingly. “Naughty, naughty – we’re on the team too – Beaters.” 

“And we should definitely be thanking you for making sure McLaggen didn’t make the team,” George added, shooting a dark look up the table where the curly haired boy was holding court. “He spent the whole of the tryouts telling Wood how he should be managing the team instead of looking for the Snitch … we’d never win with someone acting like _that_.”

“I’ve got a feeling that Quidditch Cup is in the bag this year,” said Fred. “We’ve got three awesome Chasers and Wood was almost skipping when he told us about you, so you must be good.

“Anyway,” George broke in. “we’ve got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he’s found a new secret passageway out of the school.”

“I’ll bet you it’s that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week,” added Fred.

“See you,” they chorused.

As Fred and George disappeared, Harry finished polishing off the rest of his steak and kidney pie and went to get up as well. He wanted to send a letter to his grandad to let him know all about the day’s excitement. Unfortunately, no sooner had he risen to his feet then someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

“Having a last meal before you’re chucked out, Potter?” he sneered.

“You’re a lot braver now that you’re back on the ground and you’ve got your little friends with you,” said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but Harry had faced worse odds and come out well enough that he wasn’t going to allow himself to be overly worried about his chances against a pair of meatheads who’s only talents seemed to be cracking their knuckles, scowling in a menacing fashion, and pandering to a little toe-rag like Malfoy.

Malfoy didn’t go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks. 

“I’d take you on anytime on my own,” he said. “Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel. Wands only – no contact. What’s the matter? Never heard of a wizard’s duel before, I suppose?”

“Course I have,” snapped Harry. He’d suffered thorough a dreadfully dull lecture by Professor Binns on Emeric the Evil’s defeat by Egbert the Egregious just the day before. “Is the only limit going to be ‘no contact’?”

“Yes,” said Malfoy shortly, and Harry had to repress the urge to smirk at just how put out the Slytherin looked that he’d actually accepted the challenge. “Midnight all right?” The pale boy added, “I’ll meet you in the trophy room; that’s always unlocked.” 

“See you then …”

It was only after Malfoy and his hangers-on had gone that Harry allowed himself to wonder just what he’d gotten himself into.

“You just avoided expulsion by the skin of your teeth and now you’re accepting a duel,” Luna remarked, staring up at him from her seat. Her pale eyebrows had risen so far up her forehead they were threatening to join with her ash blonde hair.

“Yeah,” Harry groaned sinking back down into his seat. “That – that’s something that just happened.”

“Excuse me,” chimed a voice behind them.

It was Hermione Granger with a rather disapproving expression on her face.

“Yeah?” Harry hedged.

“I couldn’t help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying –” she began.

 _I bet you couldn’t_ , Harry thought tetchily.

“– and you _mustn’t_ go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you’ll lose Gryffindor if you’re caught, and you’re bound to be. I know you don’t seem to be one to put much store in House loyalty, but it’s really very selfish of you.”

“And it’s really none of your business,” said Harry coldly.

Hermione opened her mouth as if to say something else, seemed to change her mind after a moment, then gave a frustrated huff and marched off. Luna giving her a cheery way of good-bye as she went.

~¤~¤~¤~

Later that night Harry lay awake listening as Dean, Ron, and Seamus fell asleep in their fourposters (Neville still wasn’t back yet from the Hospital Wing). He had spent most of the evening going through _Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed_ and _Cantrips for the Cantankerous_ looking for anything he thought might be useful in his duel with Malfoy. He knew there was a very good chance he was going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and he felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule – but, on the other hand, this was his chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face and he just couldn’t pass that up.

At half-past eleven Harry crawled out of his bed, pulled on his dressing gown and boots, picked up his wand, and crept on silent feet across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor Common Room. The trophy room often moved itself from the sixth to the third floor at night and so he and Luna planned to meet up at the statue of the Glatisant Beast on the fifth-floor landing, then head down together. She was of the opinion that Malfoy would show up with Crabbe and Goyle and have the pair of them pound on him the moment he walked in through the door.

The Common Room appeared deserted when Harry entered it. The portrait of the lion above the mantel piece was snoozing in its frame and only a few embers were still glowing in the fireplace itself. He had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest to him, “I can’t believe you’re going to do this, Harry.”

A lamp flickered on. It was Hermione Granger, wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown and a frown. 

“Go back to bed,” Harry snapped.

“I almost told Percy Weasley,” Hermione snapped, “he’s a prefect, he’d put a stop to this.”

Harry growled low in his throat, but didn’t say anything. He couldn’t believe that anyone could be so interfering. Striding past her, Harry pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.

Hermione wasn’t going to give up that easily. She followed him through the portrait hole, hissing at him like an angry goose. 

“Don’t you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourself, I don’t want Slytherin to win the House Cup, and you’re going to lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells.” 

“Sod off.”

“Well I never,” Hermione huffed. “All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you’re on the train home tomorrow, you’re so –”

But whatever Harry was, he didn’t find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing a blank stretch of canvas. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor tower.

“Now what am I going to do?” she asked shrilly.

“You’re asking me,” Harry remarked wryly. “This is your problem. I’ve got somewhere I gotta be, ta.”

And he set off. He hadn’t even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with him.

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

“No you’re _not_.”

“If you think I’m going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me you’ve got another thing coming! At least if he catches the two of us I can just tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up.”

Harry snorted, like that was going to happen.

They’d gone a few steps further when Harry heard a sort of snuffling sound.

“Is it Mrs. Norris?” breathed Hermione, squinting through the dark.

But it wasn’t the saw-dust colored terror. It was Luna in spangled dressing gown and a pair ludicrously fuzzy slippers with clawed toes. But that wasn’t the oddest thing, curled up on the floor beside her, fast asleep was Neville.

“Hello, Harry,” she greeted with a smile. “Hello, Hermione.”

“I thought we were going to meet on the fifth-floor,” said Harry, shooting a curious look at the sleeping Gryffindor beside her.

“I decided to keep Neville company while I waited,” she replied serenely, climbing to her feet.

All of this was apparently enough wake Neville who came to with a start.

“Does this mean I can get into the Common Room now?” he asked blearily, looking up at them. “I couldn’t remember the new password and Luna said you’d be coming by about now and could let me in.”

“Keep your voice down, Neville.” Hermione warned. “The password’s ‘Pig snout’ but it won’t help you now, the Fat Lady’s gone off somewhere.”

“How’s your arm?” said Harry, noting that the other boy wasn’t even wearing a cast.

“Fine,” said Neville, showing them. “Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute.”

“Brilliant,” Harry breathed, his grandad had had to heal a few broken fingers for him over the years after a couple of botched spars with the training dummy at home and it was good to know the school nurse could do the same. Then remembering where he was he added, “Neville, we’ve got to be somewhere, I’ll see you later –”

“Don’t leave me!” said Neville, scrambling to his feet. “I don’t want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron’s been past twice already.”

Not wanting to waste time arguing Harry shrugged and the four first-years set off. Creeping along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry half expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. The final leg of their journey found them darting down a staircase to the third floor and tiptoeing towards the trophy room.

Malfoy wasn’t there yet and neither were his two friends. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, statues and plaques all glinted dully in the gloom. The four of them edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry drew his wand in case Malfoy disregarded all dueling etiquette and leapt in flinging spells.

Several minutes crept by. Hermione and Neville stood huddled together in a corner of the room while Luna examined the crystal cases around them while they waited. Feeling rather impatient, Harry glanced at his wrist watch and saw that it was already half-past midnight

“D’you reckon Malfoy’s chickened –,” Harry began, turning towards the blonde girl only to trail off. Luna had gone ridged, her eyes flickering rapidly as she stared into the polished gleam of the nearest case. 

“We’ve got to go,” she gasped, tearing her eyes away from the vision she’d seen in the glass. “Filch is coming.”

“What,” Hermione queried, staring at the other girl in confusion. “How do you know?”

“I just do,” Luna snapped, not at all sounding like her usual dotty self. “We got to –”

But a noise outside the room caused her to fall abruptly silent – Filch had arrived.

“Sniff around, my sweet,” said the caretaker greasily. “They might be lurking in a corner.”

Horror-stuck, Harry waved for the other three to follow him as quickly possible and the four first-years scarpered. Rushing as quickly and as quietly as they could out the trophy room door in the opposite direction from Filch. Neville’s robes barely whipping out of sight around the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.  

“They’re in here somewhere,” they heard him mutter, “probably hiding.”

“This way!” Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run – he tripped and toppled right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

“RUN!” Harry yelled, pausing just long enough to jerk Neville to his feet and the four of them were sprinting down the gallery, not bothering to look back to see whether or not Filch was following – they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going – they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was one the other side of the castle from the trophy room.

“I think we’ve lost him,” Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering and Luna’s pale face was now splotched with high color in her cheeks.

“I – _told_ – you,” Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, “I – _told_ – you.”

“We need to get back to our towers as quickly as possible,” said Harry regaining his breath. “Hopefully the Fat Lady’ll be back by now.”

“Malfoy tricked you,” Hermione said to Harry. “You realize that, don’t you? He was never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off.”

“Or he caught Malfoy first and the plonker grassed,” interrupted Harry, he actually thought she was probably right, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “What happened doesn’t matter,” he said instead, “we just need to get out of here and back to the tower.”

It wasn’t going to be that simple. They hadn’t gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

“Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut,” he cackled. “Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty.”

“Not if you don’t give us away, Peeves, please,” reasoned Luna.

“Should tell Filch, I should,” said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. “It’s for your own good, you know.”

“Didn’t take you for a grasser,” snapped Harry and Peeves froze in the middle of the air.

“ _Grasser_ ,” the poltergeist gasped in mock shock. “You mortally offend me, Firstie!” Peeves pretended to swoon mid-air, but his wicked smile remained. “I’ll make it sporting then shall I, Ickle Firstie,” he said, swooping back up into the air. “Give you a head start shall I.”

“Fair’s fair,” Luna agreed, and they all knew that this was probably the best deal they could strike with the poltergeist.

Ducking under Peeves, the four of them ran on. It was barely a minute later that they heard Peeves bellow, “STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!” 

Unfortunately, the luck they’d had with Peeves didn’t hold out. The corridor they now found themselves on ended in a door that the four first years were dismayed to discover was locked. 

“ _No!_ ” Harry hissed, as they pushed helpless at the door.

They could hear footsteps, most likely belonging to Filch as he ran as fast as he could toward Peeve’s shouts. 

“Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry’s wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, “ _Alohomora!_ ”

The lock clicked and the door swung open – they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening. 

“Which way did they go, Peeves?” Filch was saying. “Quick, tell me.”

“Say ‘please.’,” demanded the poltergeist.

“Don’t mess with me, Peeves,” Filch snarled. “Tell me where they went!”

“Shan’t say nothing if you don’t say please,” said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

“All right – _please_.”

“NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn’t say nothing if you didn’t say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!” And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch swearing in rage.

“He thinks this door is locked,” Harry whispered. “I think we’ll be okay – get _off_ , Neville!” For Neville had been tugging on the sleeves of Harry’s dressing gown for the last minute. “ _What?_ ” 

Harry turned around – and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he’d walked into a nightmare – this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far. 

They weren’t in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden. 

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren’t already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant. 

“Sweet Ranna,” Harry gasped, as pages from _The Book of the Dead_ flickered open in his mind’s eye and through terror numbed lips Harry began to whistle.

The sweet song of the Sleep-bringer hit the three-headed dog with the force of a sledge hammer. Its great golden eyes rolling up into its head as it went weak in the knees and flopped upon the ground with a thunderous crash.

The noise was sure to draw even more attention to the forbidden corridor and so the four of them bolted at once. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn’t see him anywhere, but they hardly cared – all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them that that monstrous dog. In fact, the four of them didn’t stop running until they had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor. 

“Where on earth have you all been?” she asked, looking at their dressing gowns hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

“Never mind that – pig snout, pig snout,” panted Harry.

As the portrait swung forward they all went piling in. Three Gryffindors and a single Ravenclaw. The four of them staggered over to the smoldering fireplace and collapsed, trembling, into the squashy armchairs.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he’d never speak again.

“Stars and stones, what are they playing at keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?” said Harry finally, running a trembling hand through his sweaty hair. “We’re nothing but bit sized nibblets to that thing.” 

Hermione had got both her breath and her bad temper back again.

“You don’t use your eyes, do you?” she snapped. “Didn’t you see what it was standing on?”

“No, I didn’t. I was a bit preoccupied trying to keep it from killing us in case it slipped _your_ notice,” Harry snapped irately.

It was Luna’s quiet voice that broke the standoff between the two Gryffindors.

“A trapdoor,” she said softly. “It was standing on a trapdoor.”

“Exactly,” said Hermione. “It’s obviously there because it’s guarding something.”

She climbed to her feet, still glaring furiously at Harry.

“I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” she informed him crossly. “We could all have been killed – or worse, expelled. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed we’ve got Potions first thing in the morning, after all.” And off she stormed up the spiral staircase that led to the girls’ dormitory.

Harry could only shake his head in exasperation as he watched her go. Neville, too, crept away soon enough. Leaving only Harry and Luna in the shadowy Common Room.

“Your Common Room is a bit stuffier than ours,” declared Luna, she was now looking around the tower room with great interest. Her nervous trembles having ceased. “Fewer book cases as well, but I guess that would make sense.”

“Yeah, we’re not the most bookish lot,” Harry agreed, but bookish or not Harry had been given something to think about. One of Cerberus’s Get was in the castle and it was guarding something…. What was it that Hagrid had said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to keep safe – except perhaps Hogwarts….

Well, it looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of the songs used in this chapter are mine.
> 
> "Five Little Pumpkins" by Raffi  
> "Puddlemere United Anthem" by J.K. Rowling  
> "Blind Pig" by J.K. Rowling  
> "Blackbird" by The Beatles


	10. Hallowe'en

Harry and Luna came to the unanimous decision that it would be best if the Ravenclaw kipped in the Gryffindor Common room rather than risk being caught by Filch as she snuck across the castle to her own tower. And so, while Luna built herself a nest of golden throw pillows and scarlet afghans on one of the overstuffed leather sofas, Harry told her all about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts.

They talked until the early hours of the morning, pondering just what the object could be to require such heavy protection.

“It’s either really valuable, really dangerous or both,” said Harry.

“And probably really rare,” added Luna. “Otherwise it would be something just anybody could get.”

However, since all they really knew about the object in the grubby little package was that it was about two inches long, there wasn’t much chance of either of them figuring out what it was without more clues.

At six o’clock, as the earliest of risers began stirring in the upper levels of Gryffindor Tower, Luna slipped out the portrait hole with no one any the wiser. She intended to have a bit of a lie-in since the first-year Ravenclaws didn’t have class until their afternoon Potions lesson. Harry was not so fortunate. He only had time enough for an hourlong nap before it was to head down to the Great Hall if he wanted to snag a bite to eat before his double Potions lesson.

Hermione Granger was still in a foul temper when Harry slid into a seat at the Gryffindor table.

“I guess Malfoy wasn’t caught after all,” she pointed out snippily, giving a sharp nod in the direction of the four giant hourglasses that were used to record House points.

She wasn’t wrong. The number of emeralds pooled in the Slytherin hourglass was the same as it had been at dinner the night before. Furthermore, Draco Malfoy looked fresh as the preverbal daisy as he held court amongst the first year Slytherins. The triumphant look on his pointed face slipping only when he noticed that Harry was sitting at Gryffindor table looking a bit tired but otherwise whole.

For now, Harry supposed wiping the smug look off of Malfoy’s face was going to have to be payback enough. At least until he could figure out something that didn’t involve him breaking another school rule. The Moira had been kind in their own way the previous night – monstrous, three-headed dog not withstanding – but their favor was often a fickle thing.

~¤~¤~¤~

The Spinners seemed to have taken a shine to Harry because they graced him with a proper revenge when the mail arrived on Monday.

Harry had just set aside a note from Professor McGonagall telling him that he was to meet up with Oliver Wood that evening at seven o’clock in the Quidditch pitch for this first official training session when Hedwig soared into the Great Hall. Her brilliant white plumage a sharp contrast to the browns and grays of the other owls, but that wasn’t the only reason she drew stares that morning. She was carrying a long, thing package wrapped in brown paper.

She placed it delicately in the center of the table, then alighted onto Harry’s shoulder for a bit of a rest before the returned to the Owlery. Luna gifting the snowy owl a bit sausage while Harry retrieved the letter that had been pinned to the parcel and opened it. It was from his grandad and read:

 

_Dear Harry,_

__Imagine my surprise when I received a letter from your Head of House telling me that you are now on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Never mind my confusion when I see that she is requesting that I owl you your broomstick as soon as possible. Even though it is a well-known fact that students are not allowed their own broomsticks at Hogwarts until after they pass the flying course._ _

___I understood a bit better when I received your letter about your first flying lesson. And while I am sure young Mr. Longbottom greatly appreciated the safe return of his Remembrall, I would fervently like to remind you that your life is infinitely more precious than some magic trinket. Therefore, I would be most grateful if you did not pull such a stunt again. Specifically – no more fifty-foot dives on broomsticks that are nearly as old as I am._ _ _

_Your loving grandfather,_

Aster Evans

_P.S. I’m to remind you NOT to open the parcel at the table. Apparently, Professor McGonagall is concerned that if the other first years know you have a broomstick they’ll want theirs sent from home too._

_P.P.S. Congratulations on making the choir._

 

Harry knew that he ought to feel guilty that he’d given Grandad a fright, but it was very hard to when he knew that it was his faithful Scarlet Falcon wrapped up in the package before him.

“I’m going to take it up stairs. That way I can unwrap it and give it a quick once over before Defense Against the Darks starts,” Harry told Luna. “You know just to make sure it traveled alright.”

He had no more stepped into the Entrance Hall, however, when he found his way barred by Malfoy’s lackies, Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy himself snatched the package from Harry’s hands and felt it.

“That’s a broomstick,” he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealously and spite on his face. “You’ll be in for it now, Potter, first-years’ aren’t allowed them.”

“And here I thought you were going to sneak yours in,” Harry retorted. “Did you chicken out about that like you did last night?”

Malfoy went pink and Crabbe and Goyle began to advance on Harry menacingly but before the situation could deteriorate further, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy’s elbow.

“Not arguing, I hope, boys?” he squeaked.

“Potter’s been sent a broomstick, Professor,” said Malfoy quickly.

“Yes, yes, that’s right,” said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. “Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances Mr. Potter when she asked me to please excuse you from tonight’s rehearsal. May I ask what model it is?”

“A Scarlet Falcon, sir,” said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror spreading across Malfoy’s face. “And it’s really thanks to Malfoy here that I’ve got it,” he added.

Smothering his laughter at Malfoy’s obvious rage and confusion, Harry continued on his way upstairs. It was true after all, if Malfoy hadn’t stolen Neville Remembrall, he wouldn’t have been put on the Quidditch team….

“I suppose you think that’s a reward for breaking the rules?” came an angry voice from just behind him. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry’s hands.

“And here I thought you weren’t speaking to me,” said Harry dryly.

The bossy girl hadn’t said word one to either him or Luna since the night they had encountered the three-headed dog. But, as she was such an opinionated know-it-all, Harry hadn’t really had a problem with this.

Hermione opened her mouth as if to say something then closed it once again with a scowl. Apparently, it was to be the silent treatment once again, because she threw him a dirty look and then marched away with her nose in the air.

Due to the delays caused by Malfoy and Hermione, Harry didn’t have time to give his broomstick a once over before he had to dash off to make it to Defense Against the Dark Arts on time.

Harry had a hard time keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where his broomstick was laying across his bed, or drifting off to the Quidditch pitch where he’d be learning how to play that evening. In fact, not even the deathly aura of the dragon bones in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom or from Binns himself were able to put a dampen on Harry good mood. In fact, he spent most of his History of Magic lesson daydreaming about flying while his dicto-quill scribbled out notes about the Soap Blizzard of 1378.

Later that evening, after a quick supper and a hasty good-bye to Luna, Harry rushed off up to his dormitory so that he could unwrap his broomstick at last. As the Scarlet Falcon rolled out onto his bedspread Harry realized he’d been worried about nothing. It had traveled just fine and looked as shiny and as well cared for as always. It’s red oak hand gleaming beneath the light of the golden chandelier and its long tail of birch twigs neatly trimmed to aerodynamic perfection.

~¤~¤~¤~

At half-past six, Harry left the castle and set off towards the Quidditch pitch. It was his first time inside the stadium. The pitch itself was an elongated oval, five hundred feet long and a hundred and eighty feet wide. At its exact center was a small circle about two feet in diameter which was where the four Quidditch balls were released from at the start of a match. At either end of the pitch were a pair of sandy ellipses that marked the boundaries of the scoring area with their three tall golden goal posts – the tallest of which reached fifty feet into the air. 

As Quidditch was an aerial sport, the seating area surrounding the pitch was made up of a series of towers so that the spectators would be up high enough to see what was going on. There were seventeen towers total. Four for each House and each was decorated in their colors: red-and-gold for Gryffindor, yellow-and-black for Hufflepuff, blue-and-bronze for Ravenclaw, and green-and silver for Slytherin. The final tower with its purple coloring Harry could only assume was reserved for staff members.

Too eager to be back in the air again Harry didn’t bother waiting for Wood before he mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. A joy like no other bubbling up within him as he swooped about the pitch. Weaving in and out of the goal post only to perform a quick snap roll and go speeding off down the length of the pitch.

The Scarlet Falcon was lightyears a head of the old Tinderblast he’d been riding when he’d went after Neville’s Remembrall. It responded to his lightest touch and there wasn’t any drag at all as its neat tail twigs cut through the air like a hot knife through butter.

“Oi, Potter, come down!” came a shout from down on the ground. It was Oliver Wood and he was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harry touched down beside him as light as a feather.

“Very nice,” said Wood, his eyes glinting. “I see what McGonagall meant … you really are a natural. Now, I’m just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you’ll be joining the team practice three times a week.”

“Um, what days are Quidditch practices going to be on?” Harry had to ask as Wood stooped to open the crate.

“Why, do you have any other commitments?” asked Wood.

“Yes. I’ve got choir rehearsals on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays,” Harry explained. “And maybe Saturdays as it gets closer to the Hallowe’en Feast – that’s our first performance.” 

Wood nodded. A thoughtful look on his face. 

“Our practices are Tuesdays and Thursdays after supper and in the mornings on Saturday so you should be fine,” said Wood, opening the crate to reveal four ball of three different sizes. “Now tell me what you know about Quidditch already and we’ll go from there.” 

“Erm,” Harry hummed trying to determine the best place to begin. “I know there are seven players on each team and a total of four ball that are used in play. The first of the balls is the Quaffle – it’s the large, red one –” he pointed at the football sized ball in the crate – “and it has a Gripping Charm on it so that it can be held on to one handed while flying as well as another charm that makes it fall really slowly if dropped….”

“D’you know which players are allowed to touch the Quaffle?” asked Wood.

“Only the three Chasers and the Keeper,” said Harry promptly. “The Chasers job is to put the Quaffle through one of the opposing teams goal hoops – each goal is worth ten points – and it’s the Keepers job to guard their team’s hoops.” 

“Exactly,” said Wood sounding pleased. “I’m the Gryffindor Keeper and Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell are our Chasers. What about the rest of the players and balls?” 

“The two identical balls are called Bludgers,” said Harry pointing to a pair of jet black balls that were slightly smaller than the Quaffle. “They’re made of iron and go shooting around trying to unseat the players from their brooms, right?”

“Right,” said Wood. “Now for the Bludgers I think a bit of a practical demonstration is required – here take this…”

He handed Harry a small cub that looked a bit like a stocky baseball bat. 

“I’m going to release the Bludgers now, so stand back” he warned, bending down and freeing one of the jet-black balls. 

Free of the straps binding it the Bludger rose high into the air and then shot straight at Harry’s face with the speed of a cannon ball. Harry swung at it with the bat with all his might to stop it from caving in his face and sent it zigzagging away in the air – 

Wood let out a low whistle. 

“You’d make a fair Beater, Potter,” he remarked. “Oh, here it comes back…”

The Bludger was streaking back toward them and Wood dove on top of it to pin it to the ground. 

“Now,” Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. “Bludgers can be tricky buggers to deal with and that’s why you have a pair of Beaters on each team to keep them away from their side, who try and knock them toward the other team. The Weasley twins are our Beaters, so it’s a bit like having a pair of human Bludgers flying about.”

Harry encounter with the Bludger did leave him with one burning question. 

“Er – have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too worried.

“Never at Hogwarts,” Wood reassured. “We’ve had a few broken bones, some concussions, and several teeth sacrificed to the Quidditch gods but nothing worse than that.”

Why didn’t any of that make Harry feel any better? 

“Now you’ve mentioned the Chasers, Keeper and Quaffle. As well as, the Beaters and Bludgers,” said Wood. “But what do you know about a Seeker and their job?”

“Um their the smallest player and they look for the Golden Snitch,” said Harry.

“Very good, Harry,” said Wood as he reached into the crate and took out the fourth and last ball. Compared to the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was also bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings. 

“ _This_ ,” said Wood, “is the Golden Snitch, and it’s the most important ball of the lot especially to you since you’re our Seeker. You’ve got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team’s Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins their team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That’s also why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages – I think the record is three months, they had to keep bring on substitutes so the players could get some sleep…. So, any questions?”

Harry hummed for a moment. He understood what he had to do, but it was going to be doing it that might be the problem. 

“Are there any limits on where you can fly?” he asked finally.

Wood cocked his head to the side.

“Not on how high you can fly, no,” he said finally. “You can’t fly with the intents to collide – that’s called Blatching – and you can’t lock broom handles with another player to send them off course, either – that’s called Blurting … those are both fouls that’ll earn the other team a penalty shot…. Stooging, only applies to the Chasers … oh, and you can’t leave the boundaries of the pitch either or that’s a foul, too….”

“How many types of fouls are there,” Harry asked amazed.

“Around seven hundred, but the full list has never been made available to the public,” said Wood offhandedly. “The Department of Magical Games and Sports seems to think it’d give people ‘ideas’… Any more questions?”

Harry shook his head.

“Right, we won’t practice with the Snitch yet,” said Wood, carefully shutting the golden ball back into the crate, “it’s too dark and we might lose it, then Madam Hooch would have both our heads. So, for now we’ll practice with a few of these, alright?”

He pulled a bag of ordinary golf balls out of his robe pocket and a few minutes later, he and Harry were up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as he could in every direction for Harry to catch.    

Harry didn’t miss a single one, and Wood was delighted. After half an hour, night had really fallen and they couldn’t carry on.

“That Quidditch cup’ll have our name on it this year,” said Wood happily as they trudged back up to the castle. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn’t gone off chasing dragons.”

~¤~¤~¤~

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with choir rehearsals and Quidditch practice every evening – not to mention his homework – but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he’d already been at Hogwarts two months. And, while nothing would ever take the place of Agesander Hall in his heart, the castle had begun to feel a bit like a second home – especially now that he didn’t get lost every time he went looking for the loo. 

Their classes were becoming more and more interesting, too, now that they had mastered the basics. Transfiguration and Charms lessons were now divided between lectures at the start of the week and practical lessons towards the end of it. These practical lessons were strategically staggered as well so that no one had two practical lessons on the same day, so as to avoid magical exhaustion. Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons were supposed to be structured the same way, but after Quirrell’s abysmal attempt at demonstrating the Knockback Jinx he decided to continue with his lecture only format.

On Hallowe’en morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin and roasting apples wafting through the corridors. An even better treat, however, was Professor Flitwick announcing in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been drying to try since they’d seen him make Neville’s toad zoom around the classroom.

Professor Flitwick split them into pairs and gave each group a feather to practice with. Luna was partnered with Seamus Finnigan, but Harry had the rotten luck of being partnered with Hermione Granger. It was hard to tell which of them was more annoyed by this. After all, Hermione had stuck by her decision to give him the silent treatment and hadn’t spoken a word to him since the day his broomstick had arrived.

“Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the incantation is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself with a buffalo on his chest.”

It was very difficult. Harry swished and flicked, but the feather he was supposed to be sending skyward just lay on the desktop.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa!_ ” he intoned carefully with a precise swish and flick of his wand; the feather gave a halfhearted twitch but nothing more.

“You’re saying it wrong,” Hermione snapped. “It’s Wing- _gar_ -dium Levi- _o_ -sa, you have to make the ‘gar’ nice and long.” It took Harry more than a little effort to rein in his temper, but his control was snapped when Hermione added, “You might be able to manage it if you weren’t wasting your time mucking about on a broomstick three times a week –” 

“ _Wingardium Leviosa!_ ” Harry snarled, with a sharp swish and flick of his wand.

The feather rocketed up off the desk and nearly embedded itself into the classroom ceiling. 

“A bit less force next time, Mr. Potter!” called Professor Flitwick, but he was smiling, “Wonderful effort though, well done!”

Hermione looked absolutely furious and Harry could see the other Gryffindor boys shooting him commiserating looks. 

By the end of class most of them had managed to get their feathers airborne – though Luna and Seamus had needed a replacement after the Gryffindor had accidentally set their first one alight.

“Y’know its little wonder why no one wants to work with her,” said Seamus empathically to Harry at the end of class. “What with the way she bosses everyone about.”

“Too true,” remarked Ron as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor, “we were partnered up in Potions last class and she was a nightmare to work with.”

Someone knocked into Harry as they hurried past him. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face – and was startled to see that she was in tears.

“I think she heard you,” Luna remarked.

“So?” said Ron, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. “She must’ve noticed she’s got no friends.”

“I’m going to go and check on her,” Luna informed them; her pale eyes staring at Harry expectantly.

“I’ll – I’ll come to,” Harry relented reluctantly. He wasn’t sure what good him being there would actually do.

The pair spent their lunch hour searching the castle to no avail. Hermione was nowhere to be found. It was almost as if the castle was shifting things around so that the bushy haired girl could have some privacy.

“I’m sure she’ll turn up for Transfiguration,” said Harry bracingly as the bell rang to signal the start of evening lessons. “I mean it’s Hermione. She wouldn’t miss class.”

But Hermione wasn’t in Transfiguration nor was she seen during the remainder of the afternoon.

It was on the way down to the Great Hall for the Hallowe’en Feast that they overheard Parvati Patil telling her twin that Hermione had apparently been sighted crying in one of the girl’s loos and stated that she wanted to be left alone. There was no time for either Harry or Luna to go off and check on the bossy Gryffindor, however. As members of the choir they were part of the entertainment for the evening.

And so, while the rest of the school trickled into the Great Hall the Inter-House Choir assembled in the small antechamber that the first years had been led to before their Sorting.

“Line up in two rows everybody – first years you’ll be standing in the front,” Professor Flitwick instructed them. “And here we go…”

They entered the Great Hall to a polite round of applause and marched their way up to the front of the hall where they then assembled themselves in an orderly fashion in front of the High Table – just like they had practiced in the Music Room.

From their place in front of the High Table they had an excellent view of the spectacular decorations that now adorned the hall. Orange and black streamers were twining through the air like eels and thousands of bats made of confetti were fluttering from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds. The fluttering of their paper wings making the candles in the jack-o-lanterns that lined the tables stutter and flicker.

Behind them, at the Head Table, Professor Dumbledore climbed to his feet.

“Before we partake in our delicious feast I would like you to lend your ears to our very own Inter-House Choir,” he announced cheerfully. “Professor Flitwick take it away.”

The diminutive professor smiled at them, conjured a conductor’s baton to his hand, then mouthed a countdown: one, two, three – and then they began to sing:

 

“ _Double, double, toil and trouble;_

_Fire burn and cauldron bubble._

_Double, double, toil and trouble;_

_Something wicked this way comes!_

_Eye of new and toe of frog,_

_Wool of bat and tongue of dog,_

_Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting,_

_Lizard’s leg and howlet’s wing._

_Double, double, toil and trouble;_

_Fire burn and cauldron bubble._

_Double, double, toil and trouble;_

_Something wicked this way comes!_

_In the cauldron boil and bake,_

_Fillet of a fenny snake,_

_Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,_

_Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf._

_Double, double, toil and trouble;_

_Fire burn and cauldron bubble._

_Double, double, toil and trouble_

_Fire burn and cauldron bubble!_

_Something wicked this way come!”_

 

As the song wound to a close and before the students could so much as put their hands together to applaud, the doors to the Great Hall flew open with a thunderous crash and in ran Professor Quirrell. 

The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor’s turban was askew and there was a look of abject terror on his face. Everyone stared in perplexed silence as he sprinted the length of the Hall, slowing only long enough to shove his way through the heart of the choir as he made a bee line towards Dumbledore in his throne like chair.

“Troll,” he wheezed, as he slumped panting against the table. “Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know.”

Then without any warning he sank to the floor in a dead faint. 

There was an instant uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of the headmaster’s wand to bring silence 

“Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Prefects,” he called, “lead your Houses back to their dormitories immediately! Slytherin Prefects you are to keep your House here until informed otherwise! Mr. Duffield – Miss Kegworth –” he addressed the Head Boy and Girl – “you are to over see things here while the teachers and I deal with the troll, understood?”

What followed could best be described as organized chaos. Percy Weasley was in his element. 

“Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I’m a Prefect!”

The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were all bunched together as they were led by Percy Weasley, Isobel MacDougal, Robert Hillard, and Penelope Clearwater out into the Entrance Hall and toward the marble staircase. 

“How could a troll get in?” Harry heard his fellow first year Dean Thomas asked Ron Weasley.

“I don’t know,” replied Ron with a shrug. “They’re not supposed to be very bright. Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke.”

As they shuffled along they were passed by different groups of people hurrying in all directions. Then as they were pushing their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry felt an insistent tugging at the sleeve of his robe. It was Luna and she was staring at him with wide fearful eyes. 

“Hermione,” she breathed. “She doesn’t know about the troll.”

Harry felt his heart drop like a stone. She was right. 

“We’ll – We’ll just have to go and get her then,” Harry decided and they ducked out of the line heading upstairs and joined the queue of Hufflepuffs heading off in the opposite direction. After they had gone a little way with them, they then slipped off down a deserted corridor and began hurrying towards the girl’s toilet. They had just turned yet another corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

“The prefects,” Harry gasped, and they ducked behind the statue of a large griffin.

As they peered around it they didn’t see one of the prefects coming after them but Professor Snape instead. The dour Potions Master was hurrying along the corridor with such speed that his black robes were billowing out behind him like a pair of dark wings, then he rounded the next corner and disappeared.

“What do you suppose he’s doing?” Harry murmured curiously. “Why isn’t he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?”

Luna shrugged looking as perplexed as he felt.

Quietly as possible, they crept out from their hiding place and up along the next corridor after the professor’s fading footsteps. From the sound of it the Potions Master was heading for the Third Floor.

“Harry what if this is a diversion,” Luna whispered quite suddenly. “What if someone let the troll in so that they could get at whatever’s down the trapdoor… And maybe the Headmaster sent Professor Snape to check on it….” 

“Maybe –” Harry began, but all thoughts of Snape and the trapdoor were driven from his mind as his death sense went wild and his nose was flooded with the foul scent of decaying flesh. 

“Empty night,” Luna rasped, clamping the sleeve of her robe over her nose to block the worst of the stench. “What is that?”

Before Harry could answer her, however, an odd noise reached them – a low gurgling growl and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet – as the chilled aura of Death drew ever closer.

Hearts hammering, the pair shrank into the shadows and watched as something that might have once been a troll emerged into a patch of moonlight. 

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was bloated and black and coated tarlike runlets of ichor. Emberlike eyes glowed a hellish red in the empty sockets of the small misshapen head perched atop an ill proportioned body with short legs as thick as tree trunks and long, gorilla like arms. 

In one massive hand it was dragging along a huge wooden club that was easily as thick as Harry’s entire body.

As Harry watched the creature lumber along pages from _The Book of the Dead_ flicked open in his mind’s eye and he knew that this monster was on of the Lesser Dead, a Draugr. 

_But what can I do,_ he wondered. He was unarmed save for his wand. His panpipes and dagger both locked in his trunk in Gryffindor Tower.

The Draugr came to a stop in front of a doorway a little way down the corridor and peered inside. Then it began to slouch its way slowly into the room. As it fully squeezed its way inside, Harry noticed that there was a key in the lock. 

“There’s a key in the lock,” he murmured. “It wouldn’t hold it for long, but we could lock it inside while we go and get a teacher.”

Luna, however, was shaking her head frantically.

“No,” she rasped. “No, _that’s_ the girl’s toilet.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than they heard a sound that made Harry’s heart nearly stop in his chest – high, petrified screams. 

“ _Hermione!_ ” they cried together, and the pair of them took off sprinting towards the door and then in through it.

Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The Draugr was advancing on her, knocking sinks off the walls in great sprays of porcelain shrapnel as it went. 

“Luna try to distract it while I see if I can get control of the spirit animating it,” Harry ordered, praying that he wasn’t about to make a mistake that would lead to their lives becoming substance for the creature before them.

Luna nodded and drew her wand with a cry of “ _Vermillious!_ ”

Red sparks like a round from a Muggle flare gun shot from the end of her wand and began bouncing off of the ceiling and walls in a dazzling display. Meanwhile, Harry slapped his hands together in a palm stinging clap, the sharp sound echoing louder and longer that it should have due whisper of power he had imbued it with. Then before the claps echo could fully fade Harry whistled several notes, and they too echoed with arcane power, a series of sweet sounds within the harshness of the handclap as Harry attempted to call upon Saraneth the Binder without his tools.

As Harry pit his Will against that of the Draugr’s, the Dead creature stopped a few feet from Hermione. Then it began to turn and fixed its hellish eyes upon Harry. It’s desiccated mouth twisting in a snarl as it gurgled, “ _Little necromancer. Ulurg with feast upon your life blood and add your flesh to his own_.” 

“Try it,” Harry taunted with more bravado than he felt. Preforming the clap and whistle combo of the Binder once again, then following it up with the sweet song of Ranna the Sleep-Bringer.

The Draugr staggered as the soothing melody of Ranna washed over it, but it wasn’t down for the count yet. It advanced on Harry, raising its tree trunk club as it went. He had wanted its attention, but what to do with it now that he had it? 

Meanwhile, Luna – in a bout of daring worthy of any Gryffindor – dashed around the distracted Draugr and sprinted towards Hermione. 

“Come on, Hermione. Come on, we’ve got to get out of here!” Luna urged the other girl, trying to pull her towards the door, but the Gryffindor wouldn’t or most likely _couldn’t_ move. Hermione was pressed flat against the wall, her eyes impossibly wide and her mouth open with terror in a wordless scream. 

As the Draugr threw its own will against Harry’s spells, the young Abhorsen-in-Waiting knew he would have to do something desperate. There was no way he could properly banish the Dead being before him without his panpipes or enchanted dagger – it was too strong. If he was a fully realized Abhorsen like his grandad, then he probably could have managed it, but as it was he was fighting a battle he was losing rapidly.

And so, Harry was forced to do something extremely reckless. He drew his wand, waved it in a flickering manner, and bellowed, “ _Incendio!_ ”

A jet of flames erupted from the tip of his wand and shot towards the Draugr and the effect was immediate. The creature caught alight as though it had been covered in oil instead of dripping congealed blood and ichor. 

Howling with fury, the Draugr twisted and flailed its rapidly burning limbs. It’s massive club whistling through the air as it moved through the room like a flaming twister. Even through it was fighting to the end, the Draugr was done and it knew it. As the body burned, Harry sensed the cold barrier between Life and Death flicker as the spirit possessing the Draugr fled its burning body. Then like a puppet with its strings cut the now vacant corpse toppled to the floor with a thud that made the whole room tremble. 

“Is it – is it _dead_ ,” Hermione asked in a trembling voice.

“Technically it was never alive,” said Harry, battling down the hysteria born giggle that was threatening to burst from him.

“Oh,” Hermione breathed, her face as white as any of the Hogwarts ghosts’.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn’t realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the Draugr’s roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Professor Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the smoldering remains, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Professor Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look before making his way over to examine the Draugr’s remains. Professor McGonagall’s eyes, however, remained fastened on Harry and his raised wand. He had never seen the expression that she was now wearing on her face before. Her lips were white and her eyes were almost popping. 

“What happened here?” she demanded.

Harry wasn’t really sure what he should say. He did, however, lower his wand and return it to the holster at his waist. 

“ _Well_ ,” Professor McGonagall barked.

“Please, Professor,” said a small voice out of the shadows. “They were looking for me.”

It was Hermione, now on her feet thanks Luna’s help.

“Miss Granger, what is the meaning of this?” demanded Professor McGonagall.

“I – I wasn’t at the feast,” said Hermione, a sort of shocked horror still etched upon her face. “I had gotten upset earlier and wanted to be alone…. So – so I didn’t know that – that _thing_ was lose in the castle…. Harry and Luna must have known that because they came looking for me…. I’d be dead if they hadn’t…. Luna distracted it with sparks from her wand and Harry –” she turned very green and looked as though she were about to be sick – “Harry did _that_ to it….”

If anything, this seemed to incite the Transfiguration teacher even more. 

“Why didn’t either of you go to one of your prefects the moment you realized Miss Granger was missing,” Professor McGonagall demanded. “Instead of galivanting off?”

“We were worried and didn’t think –”

“That much is obvious, Miss Lovegood,” snapped Professor McGonagall, looking ready to spit sparks, “The lot of you are lucky that your foolishness didn’t get any of you killed.”

“Please, professor,” Hermione beseeched. “They didn’t have time to go and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.”

Professor McGonagall stared at them each in turn with furious dark eyes.

“Mr. Potter – Miss Lovegood,” she said, her voice a careful calm that was almost worse than when she had been shouting. “I am very disappointed that you did not alert one of your prefects to the danger you believed Miss Granger to be in, so five points will be taken from each of your Houses. And as for your Miss Granger, an additional five points shall be taken for being out of bounds.”

Hermione hung her head. Harry could help feeling furious on her behalf. She’d been upset and wanted to be alone – there was nothing wrong with that. How could she have known that some nutter would set one of the Dead loose in the castle?

“Now,” she went on. “I would like for you and Miss Lovegood to head up to the Hospital Wing so that you can both be examined by Madam Pomfrey.”

They each shot worried looks at Harry, but left nevertheless.

Professor McGonagall then turned to Harry.

“Mr. Potter I would like to know where a first year learned to do that to one of the Dead,” she asked, her voice deadly serious.

“I –” Harry stammered, thinking very quickly, and then it came to him. The ancient rhyme he’d been taught around the same time he’d begun learning his ABCs. He recited it for the professors then:

 

“ _When the Dead do walk, seek water’s run,_

_For this the Dead will always shun._

_Swift river’s best or broadest lake_

_To ward the Dead and haven make._

_If water fails thee, fire’s thy friend;_

_If neither guards it will be thy end._ ”

 

As he finished his recitation, shock was apparent his Head of House’s face.

“There was no way to get across the lake to get away from it, so I used the Fire-Making Spell we learned in Herbology to deal with Devil’s Snare,” he explained.

The professor stared at him as though trying to detected any falsehood. Then, apparently satisfied that he wasn’t lying, she seemed to deflate.

“I will say this much, Mr. Potter. Not may first years could have faced down one of the Dead and lived to tell the tale, much less have kept as cool a head as you and Miss Lovegood did in the situation you found yourselves in. You can tell Miss Lovegood that she has earned her House ten points. And as for you fifteen points shall be awarded to Gryffindor. I shall also be informing Professor Dumbledore about this incident.”

Harry nodded barely believing what he was hearing.

“Now, I would like you join Misses Lovegood and Granger in the Hospital Wing,” she added, and Harry hurried from the room before she could think to ask him about anything else.

~¤~¤~¤~

The Hospital Wing was a single large, rectangular corridor that smelled strongly of the lemony scent of Cleaning Solution. It was also lined with two rows of neatly made beds that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a period drama about the Second World War. Even the nurse, Madam Pomfrey, herself wouldn’t have looked out of place in a hospital ward at the turn of the century with her starched aprons and white cap. 

All of the beds were empty save for the two nearest to the door of Madam Pomfrey’s office, which were occupied by Luna and Hermione. Both of them had already been made to change into a set of white hospital pajamas.

“Another one, huh,” the nurse remarked with exasperation. “Here Mr. Potter you’d best change into these.”

She handed him his own set of white pajamas and directed him to one of the privacy screens so that he could change. Harry was actually a bit relieved to get out of his uniform because he could swear that he could feel the oily smoke from the burning Draugr clinging to him like the scent of a crematorium. 

Madam Pomfrey was passing out dinner trays with bowls of beef and barely soup, bread rolls, goblets of pumpkin juice, and apple tarts for dessert when Harry emerged.

“I’d like you each to take a dose of Mind Soothing Solution after you finish eating,” she said placing a series of single dose phials with a sunny yellow potion next to their bowls of soup. “It’ll help you sleep, which is the best medicine when you’ve experienced such a shock.”

She then bustled off back into her office to let them eat in peace.

For a while Harry and Luna sat eating their soup, Hermione however kept sneaking glances at Harry from the corner of her eyes.

“What?” he asked after this had gone on for several minutes

“I’ve memorized our Defense Against the Dark Arts book,” she began, and Harry couldn’t resist rolling his eyes – _of course, she had_ – “And when it mentioned the – the Dead it only ever mentioned running water and fire as wards. As well as special blades to slay them – never music… except – except to _raise_ the Dead and the book _never_ mentioned how it was done … So, what I’m trying to ask is how – how you were able to do what you did with that monster, Harry…?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. Grandad’s warning of Grindlewald and Great Granduncle Oleander ringing in his head. But he had to tell her something. It wouldn’t do for her to think he was some common necromancer after all.

“Do you know about the Abhorsen?” he said finally.

She nodded, honey colored eyes wide and wary. “They’re a necromancer that works with the International Confederation of Wizards. They banish and bind the Dead.”

“My grandfather is the current Abhorsen … and I’m the Abhorsen-in-Waiting… that’s how I was able to knock out the three-headed dog and how I knew what to do about the Draugr….”

“Oh,” she murmured faintly. “I suppose I should thank you – the both of you – for saving my life then.”

“Well, we could hardly let you get eaten,” Luna remarked bluntly.

“Thanks all the same,” she said with a gentle smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Double Trouble" by John Williams
> 
> On another note. I'm aware that a fair bit of this follows along very closely with the book. Major divergents from the original plot will be occurring slowly. So please trust me when I say that I do have plans for where this is all going.


	11. Questions, Quidditch and Quietus - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been basically a year since I started this fic. I had plans to be a lot further along with it, but well we make plans and the universe laughs. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is a bit shorter than usual. Mostly because it's more of a half chapter than anything else. I'll try to have part two up before the end of the month, but real life has kinda had me swamped once again. So many doctors visits it's been ridiculous.

As they entered November, the weather became very cold. Autumn was ending and the trees surrounding the castle, which had put on a resplendent display of ochres, reds, golds and russets for October, were now stripped bare leaving their mountains looking grey and bleak as winter rapidly approached. The Black Lake, which had never appeared particularly inviting, now looked positively frigid as it took on the appearance of chilled steel. As for the castle lawns, they were now coated with a silver glaze of hoarfrost every morning which could persist until noon in the shade. Through the fern pattern of the frosted windows Hagrid could be seen going about his business on the grounds, bundled up in his long moleskin overcoat, enormous beaver skin boots, and a pair of rabbit fur gloves.

In the days following the Hallowe’en Feast it became apparent that no one besides those who had been in the girls’ loo, as well as, the teachers knew that it had been a Draugr that had entered the castle instead of a troll. All of the rumors and wild tales that had begun circulating amongst the students were speculation about how a mountain troll had managed to get in in the first place with a few of the better-informed wondering how a trio of first years had managed to escape. Even the portraits, which were an excellent source for castle gossip, were suspiciously mum on the subject.

“I asked the Grey Lady and she supposes that the staff are keeping quiet about the Draugr because they don’t want to cause a panic – you know, on account if it having been dealt with so quickly,” Luna informed Harry and Hermione at dinner one evening, her misty voice pitched low so as to not be over heard. 

Harry supposed that made sense, but it hadn’t stopped him from writing to his grandad about the Draugr. Nevertheless, he had left his suspicions about the thing having been summoned and why out of his letter. That was something he would rather discuss with his grandad in person over the Christmas holidays rather than risk the message being intercepted.

Amongst the rest of the student body talk of the ‘troll’ tapered off soon enough as the start of the Quidditch season came ever closer. On Saturday, the ninth of November, Harry would be playing in his first ever match – Gryffindor verses Slytherin – after all the long weeks of training. 

Only his teammates had ever seen Harry play, because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, a secret. However, as Dean Thomas had predicted, the news that Harry was the new Gryffindor Seeker had of course leaked somehow. 

There were several reactions when the news broke. Some congratulated Harry telling him that they were sure he’d be brilliant. Others informed him bracingly that were sure he would be fine, but that just in case they would be running around underneath him holding a mattress. And then, there was Cormac McLaggen who’d gotten into a screaming row with Oliver Wood in the Common Room.

“He’s only a first year and he wasn’t even at the tryouts,” McLaggen had raged up at Wood, who was a good head and shoulder taller than him. His face a lurid shade of puce while a vein pulsed in his forehead. “You’re only putting him on the team because he’s The Boy Who Lived! I bet he’s not even that good!”

“Rubbish,” Wood had ground out coldly. “The team has been training with Potter for weeks now and the lad could out fly you with his eyes closed. Just accept that the better flyer made the team.” 

McLaggen had scowled bitterly at this and looked as though he’d wanted to deck the fifth year. But in the end, he thought better of it. It hadn’t stopped him from shooting nasty, jealous looks in Harry’s direction whenever they were in the same vicinity as one another, however.

Wood may have thought Harry was the better flyer, but that hadn’t stopped him from attempting to drive the whole team into the ground with all the last-minute Quidditch practices he was making them attend. Between choir rehearsals and Quidditch practices, Harry was positively dismayed when Wood held him back at the end of their last practice and thrust a copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ into his hands with instructions to try and have it read before Saturday’s match.

 _It’s not like I don’t have enough work to do with Professor Flitwick assigning that essay the Mending Charm_ , Harry thought sourly.

Honestly Harry wasn’t sure how he would have managed to get through all of his homework if it weren’t the fact that he was friends with such bookish people as Luna, and now Hermione Granger as well. 

Ever since the events of Hallowe’en night, namely her losing House Points for no other reason than she’d been upset and wished to be alone, Hermione’s attitude towards the teachers had shifted a bit; as one’s views were wont to do when their idols fell from their pedestals and were found to have feet of clay. While still courteous and respectful, she now no longer seemed quite as desperately eager for their approval and was – in Harry’s opinion – much less annoying because of it.

The day before Harry’s first Quidditch match found the three of them huddled at the base of the statue of the harpy Celaeno. The statue’s spread wings serving as a buffer against worst of the wind’s chill while the jam jar full of Bluebell Flames that Hermione had conjured up created a little bubble of warmth around them. Harry was reading _Quidditch Through the Ages_ while listening with half an ear as Luna chatted with a doubtful looking Hermione about something in the latest issue of _The Quibbler_ , when he caught sight of Professor Snape crossing the courtyard. He noticed at once that the other wizard was limping.

“ _Quick_ ,” Hermione whispered, urging Harry and Luna to shift closer to her so that they would better block the fire from view. Using magic outside either a classroom or a common room was against the rules after all.

Unfortunately, something about their guilty demeanor drew the professor’s attention. He limped over anyway. 

“What’s that you’re reading, Mr. Potter?” he asked.

“ _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , Sir,” said Harry, showing him.

The professor stared at the book almost suspiciously, then extended his hand for it. With great reluctance Harry handed it over. 

The Potions Master glanced at the stamped seal on the front cover that proclaimed it _Property of Hogwarts Library_ , then cracked it open to the title page as though checking that he hadn’t slipped the dust jacket onto another book.

Apparently satisfied that Harry wasn’t reading anything nefarious he went to close the book when his dark eyes landed on the borrowing card stuck to the back of the book’s front cover.

“This wasn’t checked out to you, Mr. Potter,” he said finally, closing _Quidditch Through the Ages_ with a little snap. “I am assuming that it was Mr. Wood who lent it to you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry confirmed, wondering what this was about.

The Potions Master gave a displeased little sigh at his confusion. 

“As a first year I _suppose_ your ignorance can be excused,” he said, sounding as if he didn’t believe that there was ever really an excuse. “However, as a fifth year Mr. Wood should be well aware of the school rules by now. Specifically, the one that prohibits library books from being passed along to those who have not checked them out. Madam Pince is most strict about this, you know.” A darkly amused little smile tugged at the corners of the professor’s mouth as he said this. “She likes to know exactly who to hold responsible when something … _untoward_ … happens to one of her books, after all.

“As such I’m afraid I can’t return it to you,” he went on. “However, you may retrieve it from Madam Pince yourself later if you wish.”

And with that he turned on his heel and limped away.

Harry let out a groan of annoyance. He wasn’t sure who he was more annoyed with: Wood or Professor Snape… Or Madam Pince for creating such a stupid rule…. Probably the latter.

“At least he didn’t take any points,” Hermione murmured consolingly, watching as the dark figure of the Potions Master disappeared into the castle.

“True,” Harry conceded. “I wonder what’s wrong with his leg though?”

“I don’t know, but it seemed like it was really bothering him,” said Luna thoughtfully, before turning her misty grey eyes on Harry. “He was fine the night of the Feast when we saw him, but … the next day when we had class with him he stayed up at his lectern instead of walking around like he usually does… Was it the same during your lesson this morning?” 

But Harry didn’t answer he’d caught sight of something red and glistening on the flagstones where Professor Snape had been standing. Frowning he fished a clean white handkerchief from his robe pocket, slid over to the freshly spilled blood, and began to clean it up as surreptitiously as he could.

“Harry what are you doing,” asked Hermione aghast.

“Disposing of this,” he explained, sliding back over to them and feeding the bloody handkerchief to the Bluebell Fames in the jam jar where it was rapidly rendered down to ash. “He can’t have realized that he was still bleeding otherwise he never would have walked away without cleaning it up. I mean he’s a Potions Master after all, so he knows how dangerous it can be to leave bits of yourself laying around.”

At Hermione curious look Harry hasten to explain, “Blood – especially fresh blood – but really anything that was once a part of you can all be used as conduits to do some seriously nasty bits of magic to someone.”

“So that’s why my dormmates told me to always burn the hair that collects in my hairbrush as well as the trimmings from my nails,” she asked, her brown eyes agleam in her pursuit to _know_.

“Exactly,” Harry confirmed, but his own eyes were still troubled. 

~¤~¤~¤~

After that evening’s choir rehearsal, Harry and Luna met up with Hermione in the library to work on their homework. On account of Madam Pince’s strict rule it was always much quieter here than it ever was in either of their Common Rooms. 

The entrance to the Hogwarts Library was located all the way down on the first floor where its heavy, oaken double-leaf door was guarded on either side by a pair of stone griffins, each of which were sitting on their haunches atop their marble plinths. Once through those doors it was all polished, natural wood – the endless, narrow rows of bookcases, the long sweeping top of the collection desk, as well as, the elaborately carved crown molding – and the scent of books, old but not musty. 

A smell that honestly reminded Harry of his grandad’s study at Agesander Hall. 

Unlike his grandad’s study, however, the library wasn’t lit by beeswax candles in brass sconces. Instead it was illuminated by a series of enormous leaded windows that dominated the rear wall, each of which had decoratively arched tops and seats built into the deep sills at the bottom. 

It was a table near one of these windows that Harry, Luna, and Hermione laid claim to. The window providing a good view of the grounds where they could see the wind blowing the few remaining leaves from the trees and chasing them up and down the lawns. Meanwhile, the few people still wondering about on the grounds were walking with a cold-weather hunch in their shoulders. Inside the library though the three first-years were comfortably warm.

For a while they worked on their Charms essays. Quill nips scratching across rolls of parchment as they explained why the Mending Charm could be used on inanimate objects only.

“Unless of course you want an enormous scar,” said Luna.

“Or its an emergency and you don’t know any healing spells,” added Harry.

Hermione just watched them both with bemusement as she set about editing her own essay with a vicious quill dipped in red ink. 

Once their essays were done, the girls set about comparing their notes for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Maybe between classes taught to two separate groups they would be able to actually get a single, whole lesson. Harry, meanwhile, was feeling restless. With his homework done he now no longer had anything to take his mind off his growing feeling of nerves for tomorrow.

If asked Harry wasn’t sure he would be able to explain exactly why the thought of the Quidditch match the next day unnerved him more than the choir’s performance at the Hallowe’en feast. Perhaps it was because as the Gryffindor Seeker he would be alone in his role in tomorrow’s event? After all, with the choir he had been only one small part in a much larger ensemble. If he’d messed up there it would have been noticeable, but much less so than if he were to completely fail in Saturday’s game. 

Heaving a sigh, Harry climbed to his feet. He needed something to take his mind off of the upcoming match. 

“I’m going to ask Madam Pince if Professor Snape’s handed _Quidditch Through the Ages_ back in,” he informed the girls.

“Better you than me,” they said together, as the older witch was the least helpful librarian in the history of ever as far as they were concerned.

Madam Pince, the thin, perpetually irritated looking witch that was the Hogwarts Librarian, was behind the collection desk when Harry found her. As he approached, she stared at him suspiciously down her beak like nose looking even more like an underfed vulture as she did so.

“What do you want, boy,” she demanded.

“I was wondering if _Quidditch Through the Ages_ had been turned in, Ma’am,” he asked hopefully.

“No,” she replied sharply, then more to herself she muttered. “It’s still out there being pawed at and dribbled over, urgh.” She shuddered.

Harry felt his face fall. 

“If that’s all you’re after then you’d best be on your way,” the librarian informed him, flapping one of her hands at him in a shooing motion. The heavy silver bangle that served as the key to the Restricted Section glinting with smoldering runes as she did so.

Unwilling to irritate Madam Pince further for fear of being kicked out Harry disappeared back into the stacks and made his way back through the labyrinth of bookcases to Luna and Hermione.

“No luck,” Hermione asked when he came into view.

“No. Apparently Professor Snape hasn’t turned it back in yet,” he grumbled before brightening as an idea struck. “I think I’ll head down to the staffroom and see if he’s there. Maybe he’ll let me have _Quidditch Through the Ages_ back if I promise to turn it back in.” 

Both Luna and Hermione shot him a look that said quite plainly that they doubted the wisdom of this plan.

“Just don’t go looking for him down in the dungeons if he isn’t in the staffroom,” Luna cautioned. “Slytherin territory might not be the best place for Gryffindor’s new Seeker to go the day before the match.”

Harry nodded to show that he’d heard her and made his way out of the library and past the stone griffins that guarded the door. He then went down the marble staircase to the ground floor and turned off down the corridor that led to the staff room, which was itself guarded by a pair of stone gargoyles.

As Harry approached the door to knock, the one perched atop the left-hand side of the doorframe shivered to life. It’s skin swimming with etched rune matrixes and sigils animating it. 

“What d’you want,” it demanded, peering down at him with its beady stone eyes.

“I was wondering if Professor Snape was here,” Harry asked and the second gargoyle shivered to life as well.

“Oooh, wanting to talk to the professor, eh?” it drawled. “Well, what are you waiting for? Us to announce you?”

They snickered to themselves, then went motionless again. Harry moved forward to knock on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again. Nothing. 

Harry knew it was a long shot, but perhaps the Potions Master had left the book in there? It was worth a try. He pushed the door ajar and peered inside – and a horrible scene met his eyes. 

Professor Snape and the school caretaker, Argus Flich, were inside alone. The Potions Master had his long dark robes hitched up above his knees to reveal the dark trousers he wore underneath. But that wasn’t the horrible part. One of the trouser legs had been slit up the side to reveal the bloody, mangled mess that had been made of the man’s calf. Meanwhile, Filch was standing off to the side holding fresh bandages. 

“Lucky it was you who spotted the blood, Argus. I’d hate to think what would have happened if one of the students were to get a hold of any of mine,” the professor was saying as he smeared his wounded leg liberally with a red poultice. It’s sickly sweet scent so pungent that Harry could smell it all the way over at the door.

He watched as the professor winced then swore as he applied the poultice to one of the deeper lacerations. “Blasted thing,” he growled. “How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once!”

 _I don’t need to be here_ , Harry thought, and he tried to shut the door as quietly as possible, but –

“POTTER!”

The Professor’s face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped. 

“Sorry,” he stammered. “I was just wondering if I could have my book back.”

“You what?” said the irate professor, goggling at him for a moment, then the fury re-seized his features. “Out, Potter! _Now!_ ”

And Harry went as fast as his legs would carry him. Rushing away from the staffroom and the Potions Master before the man decided to take points as he sprinted back upstairs to the library and Luna and Hermione.

“What happened,” asked Luna, when he came into view. Her grey eyes taking in his pale face and wide green eyes.

In a low whisper, Harry recounted what he had seen.

“You know what this means?” he finished breathlessly. “Now we know for sure he was near that three-headed dog on Hallowe’en! It’s must have bit him and that’s why his leg was all tore up!” 

Hermione’s eyes were very wide. 

“You’re not saying that you think he was trying to get past it are you?” she asked. “I mean I know he’s not the nicest of teachers but I can’t see him trying to steal something Professor Dumbledore is trying to keep safe.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” said Harry, shaking his head. “From what I understand Professor Snape’s loyal to Dumbledore. Besides even if he wasn’t I’m sure he’s not thick enough to go flashing that wound around in the staffroom if he did try and then fail to get past that dog.”

“True,” Hermione conceded.

“It’s probably like Luna said on Hallowe’en,” Harry went on. “Either Professor Snape knew that the Draugr was a diversion and went to check on things on the third floor on his own. Or Dumbledore figure it out and he sent him there.”

“What I can’t figure out is why he was bit,” Luna mused softly. “You would think the headmaster would have made sure the person he sent to check on things would be able to pacify the dog if need be… but it’s obvious that he didn’t.” 

Hermione glanced at Harry at that and asked, “How common is the knowledge of how to knock out a three-headed dog like you did that night?” 

“Not very,” he informed them. “I only know because it’s in one of the early chapters of my family’s grimoire. The first Abhorsen’s father had a fondness for those dogs. He kept one that I know of to guard his home…. You have to wonder what Dumbledore’s having this one guard….”

And wasn’t that still just the question of the day? But it was one – even with Hermione’s help – that they were no closer to answering. All they knew about it was that it was either really valuable, really dangerous, and really rare…

“And it’s something that a necromancer would be interested in,” Luna added. “After all, not just any one could summon and control a Draugr, could they?”

That was not something Harry had considered before. The thief had used necromancy to create a diversion on Hallowe’en night. That wasn’t a skill learned over night nor one used lightly – well at least not for very long. The river tended to claim the reckless quite quickly after all.

What sort of thing would a necromancer covet enough to try and steal? Harry wondered. In fact, he was still pondering just that when they were run out of the library at eight o’clock by Madam Pince and when he went up to bed later that night.


	12. Questions, Quidditch and Quietus - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, you know how I said I'd get the other half of chapter eleven out before the end of the month? Well … it turns out this chapter has decided to be one more of a monster, so it's being divided into thirds. I hope it's a decent Halloween Treat for you all nevertheless.

Harry woke early the morning of the match after a less than restful night. He’d had a hard time quieting his mind enough to sleep as the same two questions ran through it again and again on an endless repeat: What was the three-headed dog guarding? And, what made it something of interest to a necromancer?

With his stomach full of knots for another reason Harry went down to the Great Hall. The smell of sausages and rasher doing nothing to abate his churning innards. The rest of the students, however, were enthusiastically loading up their plates as they chatted cheerfully about the upcoming match. 

“The conditions are perfect … just enough cloud coverage to keep the sun from being a problem and no wind to blow anyone off course,” Harry heard Terry Boot saying to a couple of his year mates as he passed.

He claimed an empty seat beside Hermione, who oddly enough had her schoolbag with her. _Probably bringing something to the match to read if she gets bored_ , Harry figured, not entirely sure how he felt about that, but deciding in the end that Hermione wouldn’t be Hermione without a book somewhere on her person.

“Morning, Harry,” she greeted him brightly, only to frown a moment later. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“Not hungry,” he managed, his face going rather green as he caught sight of Seamus Finnigan coating his plate of bangers and mash in a thick layer of ketchup.

“Want some?” asked Seamus, catching Harry’s gaze as he looked up from his plate. “You need your strength after all, Harry. Seekers are always the ones who get nobbled by the other team.”

“Thanks, Seamus, but I’m good,” said Harry queasily as the sandy-haired boy tucked into his now pink potatoes.

“You really should eat something, Harry,” Hermione informed him sternly. “I read somewhere that marathon runners should have carbs before a race so that they have plenty of energy. I’m sure playing Quidditch can’t be too different. So maybe some porridge at least?”

“I suppose,” Harry relented, pulling a bowl towards him and adding slices of apple to the top. Hopefully he wasn’t about to learn if porridge tasted the same coming back up as it did going down.

He’d managed a few spoonfuls when he heard a vague, dreamy voice behind him say, “Hello, Harry.”

Harry turned around and felt something loosen in his chest as he caught sight of Luna and what she was wearing. Perched precariously atop her silvery blonde head was a large hat shaped like a life-sized lion’s head.

“I’m supporting Gryffindor,” she said, pointing unnecessarily at her hat. “Look at what it does….”

She reached up and tapped the hat with her wand. It opened its mouth wide and gave an extremely realistic roar that made everyone in the vicinity jump.

“It is good, isn’t it?” she said happily, sliding into the empty seat on Harry’s other side. “I wanted to have it chewing up a serpent to represent Slytherin, but the two animation spells kept getting entangled. And a lion choking on a snake while trying to roar just didn’t seem very supportive, you know?”

“I suppose not,” Harry grinned, while all around them Gryffindors and Ravenclaws alike stared incredulously.

~¤~¤~¤~

At half past ten, Luna and Hermione said good-bye to Harry as he followed the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team out of the Great Hall. By eleven they had joined the rest of the school in the march out to the stadium. Several students had rosettes in either Gryffindor red or Slytherin green pinned to the front of their cloaks, while others had attached triangular pennants to their wands.

No matter who they were supporting, however, there were several students were carrying either binoculars or omnioculars, which were the Wizarding equivalent with several special features in addition to the usual magnification, such as: Slow-Mo, Play-by-Play, and Instant Replay. After all, even though the stadium seats were located in towers around the pitch, it could still be difficult to see what was going on at times.

Luna and Hermione claimed a pair of seats in the topmost row of one of the Gryffindor towers. They were soon joined by the rest of the Gryffindor first years. Once everyone was settled the girls took a large banner from within Hermione’s schoolbag and spread it out.

The banner had been made from one of the sheets Ron Weasley’s rat, Scabbers, had chewed on and ruined. It said _Potter for President_ , and Dean Thomas, who was good at drawing, had painted a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Hermione had then Charmed the paint with a tricky spell so that it flashed different colors.

~¤~¤~¤~

Down in the boys’ changing area of the locker room, Harry, the Weasley twins, and Oliver Wood were changing into their Quidditch uniforms: tan riding breeches worn with the cuffs tucked into padded, knee high boots; gold sweaters with scarlet Quidditch robes overtop them – their billowing sleeves obscuring the padded leather gauntlets that extended from wrist to just below the shoulder. In the girls’ area, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell were doing the same.

Once changed everyone assembled in the co-ed section of the locker room. It was here that they would wait until it was time to head out onto the pitch. 

At five till, Wood cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. 

“Okay, men,” he said.

“And women,” chimed in Angelina the Chaser.

“And women,” Wood agreed. “This is it.”

“The big one,” interrupted Fred Weasley.

“The one we’ve all be waiting for,” added George.

“We know Oliver’s speech by heart,” Fred whispered to Harry, “we were on the team last year.”

“Shut up, you two,” huffed Wood without much heat, before continuing on with his speech. “This is the best team Gryffindor’s had in years. We’re going to win. I know it.”

He stared at each of them in turn. His eyes agleam as if to say, _or else_. 

“Alright then,” he glanced at the clock above the blackboard against the far wall. “It’s time. Good luck, all of you.”

Harry pulled on his Quidditch helmet, which looked rather like a leather aviator’s cap from the First World War, and followed Fred and George out of the locker room. A wave of noise greeting them as they stepped out onto the pitch. Cheers and whistles; boos and hisses – both filled the air as each teams’ supporters and detractors made themselves heard. Well, at least until they were all drowned out by a loud roar from Luna’s hat.

Harry glanced in the direction of the roar’s origin and saw a fluttering banner high above, flashing _Potter for Present_. He felt a broad grin stretch across his face. He wasn’t nervous anymore.

The two teams met at the middle of the pitch. Gryffindor in their gold sweaters and scarlet robes. While Slytherin was in silver sweaters and emerald green robes. Madam Hooch, who was refereeing, was waiting for them. She was clad in black-and-white Quidditch robes of her own and at her feet was a crate with the four balls waiting to be released.

“Now, I want a clean game, from all of you,” she said, once they were all gather around her. Harry couldn’t help noticing that she seemed to be speaking to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, in particular.

Flint, a large, barrel chested sixth year, leered over at the Gryffindor team unpleasantly as she said this. His thin lips curling back in a snaggle toothed grin that made him look all too much like the mountain troll Harry had seen a picture of in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.

“Everyone, mount your brooms, please,” called Madam Hooch.

Harry clambered onto his Scarlet Falcon. Across from him, he could see Bole and Derrick, the two fourth year Slytherins from the Inter-house Choir, do the same before tapping their Beater’s bats together in solidarity.

Madam Hooch brought her silver whistle to her lips and blew. Immediately fifteen broomsticks began to rise up, up into the air. The game had begun.

~¤~¤~¤~

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

Over in the purple Staff Tower, the Weasley twins’ friend and year mate, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match. He was being closely watched over by Professor McGonagall, who was responsible for the golden scoreboard. 

“And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Katie Bell, who you all might recognize as a member of the reserve team last year – back to Johnson and – oh no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle.

“That’s Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint speeding along with the Quaffle – he’s looking to score – but no, he’s stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor’s Keeper and Captain, Oliver Wood.

“Gryffindor takes the Quaffle – that’s Alicia Spinnet, a superb find by Wood last year, doing a nice loop around Flint and now rocketing up the pitch. She looking to pass to Johnson and – OUCH – that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head with a Bludger from one of the new Slytherin Beaters, Lucian Bole.

“And now the Slytherins are in possession of the Quaffle – that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which – but nice play by one of the Gryffindor Beaters, anyway.

“That’s Johnson of Gryffindor back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear pitch a head of her and off she goes – she’s really putting her Nimbus Seventeen-Hundred through its paces – she dodges a Bludger from Slytherin’s Peregrine Derrick – the goal posts are just ahead now – come on, now, Angelina – Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley dives – he misses – GRYFFINDOR SCORES!”

Cheers and whistles erupt from the Gryffindor supporters; red sparks are shot from the wands of those waving pennants; and another booming roar erupts from the mouth of Luna’s lion hat. Meanwhile, across the pitch the Slytherin fans howl and moan their displeasure.

“Budge up there, move along.”

“Hello, Hagrid,” Luna greeted the gamekeeper as he moved carefully along the top row of the tower.

“’Lo, Luna,” said Hagrid, as Luna and Hermione squeezed together to give the large man enough room to join them. “I’ve bin watchin’ from me hut –” he patted a large pair of perfectly ordinary binoculars hanging from a strap around his neck – “but it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?”

“Afraid not,” said Hermione, her cheeks flushed from the cold. “Harry’s been staying out of things so far.”

“Keepin’ out of trouble, eh? Well, that’s somethin’,” said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

~¤~¤~¤~

High above them, Harry hovered, balancing his broom on the edge of the wind as he scanned the pitch for some sign of the Snitch. He was keeping out of things as per Wood’s orders.

“You might see the Slytherin’s Seeker, Higgs, try and run interference with us when he’s not searching for the Snitch, but he’s been doing this a lot longer than you, Potter,” Wood had said in one of their earlier practices. “So, until you get a bit more experience I’d rather you focus finding the Snitch and getting to it before him, alright?”

And so, he’d done as told. He’d stayed out of things and stuck with circling the edge of pitch; keeping well above the main action of the match. Honestly, he felt more like a spectator with a bird’s eye view more than anything else.

Or he had until one of the Bludgers had decided to come pelting his way, shooting at him like a cannonball more than anything else. Nevertheless, Harry had been able to dodge it with ease.

A moment later the Bludger was followed by Fred Weasley, who hollered, “All right there, Harry,” before beating the Bludger towards the Slytherin Chaser, Graham Montague. 

“Ouch – and Montague’s lost the Quaffle, but Slytherin’s still in possession,” Lee Jordan’s voice echoed around the stadium. “Pucey is speeding towards the goal posts with the Quaffle. He ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Gryffindor’s Chaser, Katie Bell… He dodges them all… He’s entered the scoring area – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?” 

A murmur ran through the crowd as Slytherin Chaser, Adrian Pucey, dropped the Quaffle with a start as a flash of gold darted past his left ear. 

 _At last_ , Harry thought angling his broom down into a steep dive down, down towards the streak of gold. 

The Slytherin Seeker, Terence Higgs, had seen the fluttering gold ball, too. And so, together they raced after it. Hurtling neck and neck after the Golden Snitch. 

While the Seekers did their work, everyone else on the pitch seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung midair on their broomsticks and watched on in silence.

Between Harry’s Scarlet Falcon and Higgs’s Cleansweep Seven, the brooms of the two Seekers were more or less evenly matched. Harry, however, was a lot smaller than the seventh year and therefore much faster.

As he sped along he could see the little round ball just ahead of him. It’s wings a silver blur. Vision tunneling, Harry leaned forward, plastering himself along the handle of his broom and extended his left hand towards the Snitch – he was gaining on the winged ball – just a few more inches and – WHAM!

A roar of rage erupted from the Gryffindor supporters below – Marcus Flint had collided with Harry on purpose. Knocking the smaller boy’s broomstick off course and leaving Harry clinging to his broom’s handle for dear life. 

“Foul!” called Madam Hooch, after a loud blast from her silver whistle. “For a Slytherin Chaser Blatching the Gryffindor Seeker, Gryffindor is a to be allow a penalty shot!”

Alicia Spinnet handily got the Quaffle past the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, and put it through the right-side goal post to make the score twenty to zero. However, in all the confusion the Snitch had vanished once again.

~¤~¤~¤~

Meanwhile, down in the stands, Dean was yelling, “Send him off, ref! Red card!”

“What _are_ you talking about, Dean?” asked Ron.

“Red card!” Dean repeated furiously. “In football if you pull something like that you get shown the red card and you’re out of the game!”

“Dean, this isn’t football. It’s Quidditch,” Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean’s side.

“They oughta change the rules,” he growled. “Flint coulda knocked Harry outta the air.”

In the shadow of the gamekeeper, Luna and Hermione exchanged a glance. While neither of them particularly liked the fact that the Slytherin Captain had attempted to knock their friend out of the air. They both doubted that Harry would appreciate anyone’s attempt at mollycoddling him either.

Over in the Staff Tower, Lee Jordan was struggling to keep his commentary unbiased.

“So – after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating –”

“Jordan!” growled Professor McGonagall.

“I mean, after that open and revolting foul –”

“ _Jordan, I’m warning you –_ ”

“All right, all right,” Lee huffed. “After Flint nearly _kills_ the Gryffindor Seeker, which could have happened to _anyone_ , I’m sure, a penalty shot to Gryffindor, which is taken by Spinnet – she puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play with Gryffindor still in possession.”

~¤~¤~¤~

Hovering high above the pitch, Harry had just dismissed the glint of light he’d seen down below him as the sun reflecting off of one of the foot-pegs of Montague’s broomstick when it happened. His broomstick gave a sudden and violent lurch beneath him. 

For a split second, he was sure he was going to fall. The only thing saving him from a fatal drop being a swift redoubling of his grip along the shaft of his broom’s handle with both his hands and knees. 

And then it happened again. It was as though his Scarlet Falcon was attempting to buck him off. But that was impossible. Professionally crafted broomsticks did not suddenly decide to rid themselves of their riders.

Harry tried to turn back towards the Gryffindor goal post – he was going to ask Wood to tall a time-out – only to realize that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn’t turn it. He couldn’t direct it at all.

It was as he came to this realization that his broom gave yet another lurch before suddenly shooting off across the length of the pitch. All the while, making violent zigzagging, swishing movements as it went as it tried its best to hurl him from his seat.

Down below, Lee was still commentating.

“Slytherin now in possession – Flint has the Quaffle – he passes Spinnet – passes Bell – is hit hard in the face by a Bludger from one of the Weasley twins (hope it broke his nose) – only joking, Professor – Flint’s entered the scoring area – and Slytherin scores…”

The Slytherins sections of the stands erupted in cheers and showers of green wand-sparks. No one seemed to have noticed that Harry’s broomstick was behaving strangely. 

As he struggled to keep ahold of his jerking and twitching broomstick, Harry could only hope that someone would notice that something was wrong when he was carried past the boundary line of the pitch.

What he didn’t know was that things were about to become much more dangerous than a bucking broomstick.

~¤~¤~¤~

“Dunno what Harry thinks he’s doin’? Madam Hooch is goin ter get ’em fer Boundin’ if he ain’t careful,” Hagrid mumbled under his breath.

He’d just begun to lift his binoculars so that he could get a better view of the small red speck that was Harry against the grey sky when the boy’s broomstick began to roll its rider over and over again. The sight of which making the large man go very pale beneath his bushy, black beard.

At that moment, all over the stands people were beginning to realize that something was quite wrong with Harry’s broomstick. They pointed and gaped open mouthed, then everyone seemed to hold their breath as one as the broomstick gave another wild jerk and managed at last to unseat its rider. Harry was now dangling underneath his Scarlet Falcon. The desperate grip of a single hand the only thing saving him from a potentially fatal fall.

“Did something happen to his broom when Flint blocked him?” Seamus whispered.

“Can’t have,” said Hagrid, his voice shaking. “Can’t nothing interfere with a broomstick’s enchantments except powerful Dark magic – no kid could manage somethin’ like that.”

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid’s binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started scanning the crowd frantically. Someone was bewitching that broomstick. Now if only she could figure out who.

As her eyes landed on the Staff Tower she gasped at what she saw. In the middle of the front row sat Professor Snape. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and he appeared to be muttering nonstop under his breath. 

“It can’t be – he wouldn’t,” she gasped, the binoculars nearly slipping from her lax grip. “Harry said he was on our side.”

She barely noticed when Luna plucked the binoculars from her nerveless fingers and held them up to her own eyes.

The Ravenclaw was looking skyward, but she wasn’t looking at Harry. Instead, her gaze was focused on a dense black cloud that appeared to be moving against the wind. 

“Hermione, does that cloud look strange to you,” she asked, jolting Hermione out of her stupor.

“What…cloud?” Hermione wondered, before continuing quite sternly. “Luna this isn’t the time for cloud watching! We’ve got to help Harry! Snape’s jinxing his broom!”

And in an instant, she had bolted to her feet and disappeared down the tower stairs.

Luna, however, had barely registered the other girl’s disappearance. She was staring in open mouthed horror as she realized just what the approaching cloud actually was.

“It’s not a cloud,” she wheezed. “Oh, empty night – _IT’S GORE CROWS!_ ” she added, shrieking the last.

And as a wave of feathered Dead descended upon them the stadium descended into pandemonium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your Halloween Trick, however, is that it's a cliffhanger - please don't hate me.
> 
> In all seriousness though I'll try and have part three up as soon as I can.


	13. Questions, Quidditch and Quietus - Part 3

The screams of the crowd gave Harry only a few seconds’ warning of the approaching murder. It was just long enough for him to turn his head and see the dozens of fast-moving shapes as they began to dive towards the pitch. As they neared, he could feel the presence of the Gore Crows. An aura comprised of the admixture of Death and the ozone ooze of Dark Magic that was animating their rotten, skeletal forms.

Harry couldn’t help but feel a wave of helplessness wash over him as he realized that the angle of the Gore Crows’ dive meant that he was directly in their oncoming path. Furthermore, dangling as he was from his Scarlet Falcon, there was no way he could dodge them. And so, all he could do was brace himself for impact and hope he could survive the incoming wave of carrion birds.

The only thing that gave him a bit of hope was that these members of the Lesser Dead weren’t brute force killers like the Draugr from Hallowe’en. Instead, Gore Crows preferred to chip away at their prey with a slow death of a thousand cuts as they overwhelmed their victims through sheer force of numbers. These birds, according to _The Book of the Dead_ , were born from the ritual killing of ordinary crows by a necromancer, who then infused their bodies with the broken, fragmented spirit of a single Dead spirit. 

And so, with his fingers locked about the handle of his broom in a knuckle popping grip, Harry watched as the Gore Crows drew ever closer. The lead bird was now near enough that Harry could see the glowing red embers of its eyes in their empty sockets as a hiss emerged from its beak; a noise that called more to mind an adder before it struck than anything a living bird might produce.

As the murder moved to engulf Harry – talons outstretched – the only thing that saved him from a bloody death was a well swung club and the timely arrival of George Weasley. The spirit fragment abandoning its ensorcelled form as the lead Gore Crow’s body exploded in a shower of black feathers and globlets of rotting flesh. 

The Weasley twins had ignored Madam Hooch’s orders to land and get to safety when the Gore Crows had appeared. Instead the two of them had come to Harry’s rescue. Each of them a whirlwind of bat and broomtail as they beat the carrion birds away in the weirdest game of Swivenhodge ever played.

~¤~¤~¤~

Meanwhile, down below Hermione was a witch on a mission. Swinging pointy elbows left and right as she forced her way through the panicking crowd as she beat a path towards the staircase that lead up to the top of the Staff Tower. Once there the first year Gryffindor thundered her way up to the Staff Box and towards Snape.

All of the professors were standing with their wands drawn when Hermione arrived. A few were producing anxious sparks from their tips as their wielders gazed upwards to where the Gore Crows were circling the three students who were still airborne. None of them daring to cast any sort of destructive magic up at the fray for fear of hitting one of them.

Hermione, however, only had eyes for the Potions Master as she shoved her way through the crowd of grown witches and wizards in her rush to reach him. She didn’t even pause to apologize as she bowled into Professor Quirrell, who she didn’t quite succeed in knocking off of his feet. Though, she did manage to knock the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher’s turban clean off the top of his head. Exposing the papery pale skin of his hairless scalp as well as the tracery of blue veins that covered it as she went darting past.

Hermione paused in her headlong rush across the stand towards Snape only long enough to draw her vine-wood wand from her robe pocket. Her blood pounding in her ears as she looked at the man who was still muttering nonstop under his breath as he continued to jinx Harry’s broom. Leaving her friend easy prey for the Dead horrors circling overhead.

It was only as she opened her own mouth to cast the first spell that sprung to mind, however, that she finally heard what Snape was actually saying: “ _Finite Incantatem Maxima, Finite Incantatem, Finite Incantatem Maxima!_ ”

Again and again he incanted a counter-spell – a powerful one at that. It was then that she realized that he had been trying to save Harry this entire time. 

“ _Finite Incantatem Maxima_ ,” she intoned, instead of the incantation for the fire-spell she’d been planning to use. Lending her own power to the professor’s spell as she cast her gaze skyward once again. Immediately it was apparent that something had changed. Harry’s broomstick was back under his control.

Across the way, in the Gryffindor Stands, Luna Lovegood’s face split into a ferociously joyful grin. “Good work, Hermione,” she crowed.

~¤~¤~¤~

Up above Harry finished clambering back onto his broomstick. The twins still circling him protectively all the while. Overhead the Gore Crows were regrouping. Their numbers thinned but only slightly by the Beaters’ clubs.

Harry felt a surge of irritation as he stared up at them. This was the second time he’d encountered malicious Dead without his tools since he’d come to Hogwarts. _No more_ , he vowed, now seeing why his grandad kept his bandoleer on his person at all times. It wasn’t paranoia if there really were monsters out there waiting to eat your face off.

“Fred – George, on my signal make a break for the ground,” Harry barked in a tone that booked no argument; then, before the twins could protest, he brought his hands together in a palm stinging clap.

As the crack of flesh against flesh hung in the air Harry wet his lips and whistled. Frustration and fear fueling his spell in equal measures as he invoked the commanding voice of Saraneth the Binder and all around them the Gore Crows froze in midair.

As they streaked towards the ground Harry could feel the sprits animating the Gore Crows as they fought to lose themselves from his control. Pitching their Will against his own.

 _I need a way to banish them_ , he thought. His mind running through all the wards and banes he knew.

All the while his irritation as his lack of proper equipment gnawed at him. Without his wand he couldn’t summon flames like he had to defeat the Draugr. Nor could he encourage the blanket of clouds above them to produce rain; a Living water as sure as any lake or river.

Casting a look over his shoulder as he dove, Harry could see the Gore Crows that had managed to free themselves from his control coming for them. The lot of them looking quite ragged indeed as they did. None of the Dead could last very long under the sun and when exposed to the wind. But these Gore Crows had been fresh when they appeared, which led Harry to believe that the necromancer who had summoned them had emptied a nearby rookery quite recently.

The Gore Crows that were now streaking after them were beginning to look positively bare as the wind from their dive stripped them of their feathers and ripped the putrid flesh from their spell-inscribed bones. Leaving the white of their skeletons to shine wetly in the cloud shrouded sunlight. In fact, the only part of the birds that was still a glossy black at all were the stiletto like points of their beaks.

Above the undulating murder Harry could make out the sun, but just barely, as it reflected like a pale disk through the heavy blanket of clouds. Glancing away, he put on another burst of speed as he raced towards the green of the pitch. The wind tugging at his robes as he went and it was then that Harry was struck by a sudden and reckless idea. 

He had no alder whistle, but he knew the notes to summon up a gale nevertheless. And so, as his feet hit the ground with a bone jarring thud, Harry wet his lips once again. The twins touched down on either side of him as the first whistled notes for an updraft began to fill the air.

Harry’s magic coating his throat and lips to ensure that the sound was clear and true as the air around the Gryffindors began to move; the spell growing stronger and stronger as he exhaled.

Unlike his summoning in the shop on Horizont Alley, this wind came not in the form of a gently swirling dervish, but as something wild and ferocious as it fought Harry’s control every step of the way. As the air compressed around them, both Harry and the twins were forced to their knees, then when he could rein in the gale no longer Harry released it and the effect of his summoned storm was immediate as was the Deads’ reaction.

The fragmented spirits shed their rotting flesh and fled for the deep shadows of the nearby Forbidden Forest. Their spirit flesh compressed to the point to where they appear as little more than amorphous blobs as they skittered across the grounds to find hidey holes along the underside of rocks and the gaps between tree roots. Meanwhile, the Living were left blinking in the full and glaring light of the sun as they take in the sight of the stadium towers with their ripped banners and exposed scaffolding.

~¤~¤~¤~

The aftermath of the attack was nothing short of barely controlled chaos with the dozen professors who had attended the game now responsible for corralling the nearly three hundred students that were churning about anxiously in the stadium. Needless to say, even with the Gore Crows gone, the match would not be resuming. Though to be honest everyone (save the two captains of the Quidditch teams) seemed more than happy enough to join the mass of students that were being herded back up to the castle. As they were all eager to put the thick stonewalls between themselves and any Dead spirits that might still be lingering in the Forbidden Forest. 

Once back in the castle the majority of the student body was allowed to go about business as usual as long as they stayed indoors. This was not the case for the fourteen Quidditch players, as well as Madam Hooch, who’d been on the pitch when the Gore Crows arrived. They were all bustled up to the Hospital Wing as soon as possible so that they could be given a onceover by Madam Pomfrey, who was in a right state when they arrived.

“As if Quidditch isn’t dangerous enough! Now we’ve got the Dead attacking students,” she blustered, before ordering the Gryffindor Chasers to join Madam Hooch behind a set of privacy screens before directing the rest of the players behind another. Once there the lot of them were ordered to strip down to their underwear.

The Quidditch pads seemed to have taken the brunt of the damage the Gore Crows had attempted to inflict. The leather pocket and scared from beak and claw, but Harry’s skin was relatively unscathed. 

As he sat on one of the nearby hospital beds, Harry could hear the nurse dismiss the Gryffindor Chasers and Madam Hooch. The entire Slytherin team, plus Oliver Wood, was similarly dismissed a short while later. Harry and the Weasley twins were less lucky. Scored and scratched from being in the heart of the murder of Gore Crows, they had to stay.

“Is this really necessary – I mean it’s only a few scratches, right,” Fred Weasley squawked as the nurse began to scrutinize a series of said scratches that were bleeding sluggishly on the red-haired boy’s shoulder.

“Injuries created by the Dead have a nasty habit of putrefying if left untreated,” Madam Pomfrey informed him gravely. “So, unless you’d like that arm to fall off let me work.”

She flushed their wounds with Unicorn Water, which would purify any infection carried by the carrion birds’ talons, then daubed them with a purple potion that frothed and steamed on contact. Both were concoctions Harry recognized from his grandad’s kit.

Madam Pomfrey then prodded the deepest of their cuts and scratches with the tip of her wand. Healing them instantly. 

“That’s you two done,” she informed the twins, allowing all three of them to get redressed. “Remember, you are to come back immediately if either of you begins to feel unwell in anyway.”

She then released them into the waiting arms of their older brother. Percy Weasley didn’t look as though he knew whether to be furious with the twins for putting themselves in danger or proud of them for protecting a younger student. 

“Now, Mr. Potter, you’d best let me have a look at that throat of yours,” said the nurse, directing Harry to open his mouth so that she could shine a witch-light down it. Whatever she saw had her tutting disapprovingly. “Summoning a wind like that without a focus – you’re lucky you didn’t burn out the meridians in your throat.”

Harry could only smile sheepishly as Madam Pomfrey puttered around mixing up a tea of slippery elm bark and marshmallow root. 

“Drink this,” she ordered, then bustled over to the door to let Luna, Hermione and Hagrid into the long hall of the infirmary. “You three can keep him company while I Floo Professor McGonagall with an update.”

The girls rushed forward to plant themselves on either side of Harry on the hospital bed. Hagrid followed at a more sedated pace. The large man looking quite out of place in the sterile environment of the Hospital Wing.

“Oh, Harry, we were so worried,” cried Hermione, looking more than ready to fling her arms around him, but to avoid spilling the steaming cup of tea in his grasp she refrained.

“How are you,” Luna asked, eyeing the freshly healed scratches that were peeking out from under the collar of his Quidditch robes.

“Well enough,” he croaked, his throat feeling more than a little inflamed. With a grimace he took a sip from his cup. It wasn’t too bad. Possessing a naturally sweet flavor. Not to mention how it coated his through wonderfully. 

“We saw Professor McGonagall collect your broom from the pitch,” Hermione informed him. “She said something about her and Professor Flitwick looking it over to check for any other tampering.”

“So, someone was jinxing it then?” Harry managed, his voice a bit stronger.

Luna and Hermione exchanged a significant look, but it was Hermione who spoke.

“I thought it was Professor Snape,” she confessed. “I’ve read all about jinxes, you see – and when I saw him staring at you and muttering across the way… Well, I was sure that he was the one messing with your broom….” 

“What?” asked Hagrid, who hadn’t heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. “Snape’d never do a thing like that.”

Hermione nodded quickly and said, “I agree with you Hagrid. As soon as I got close enough to him, I realized that he was incanting a counter-spell.” 

“Never mind tha’,” said Hagrid, waving her off. “What make’s yeh think someone was tryin’ ter mess with Harry in particular?”

Harry, Luna and Hermione shared a look, wondering what to tell him. Harry decided on the truth. 

“It may have been the same person who let the draugr in on Hallowe’en. They may have wanted payback for me destroying it,” said Harry. “Or maybe this was just another distraction.”

“Distraction,” questioned Hagrid.

“You know, so they could try and steal whatever that three-headed dog is guarding,” Harry explained.

Hagrid looked positively gobsmacked.

“How do you know about Fluffy?” he demanded.

It was the trio’s turn to be gobsmacked.

“That thing has a name,” said Hermione.

“O’course he does, he’s mine,” Hagrid informed them. “Bought him off a Greek chappie I met down in the pub las’ year. Dumbledore asked if he could borrow him to help guard the –”

“ _The?_ ” the first-years asked in stereo.

“Now, don’t ask me anymore,” said Hagrid gruffly. “That’s top secret, that is.”

“But some one’s trying to _steal_ it,” Harry remined him.

“O’course someone’s tryin’ ter steal it – that’s why it was moved here from Gringotts in the firs’ place,” said Hagrid sternly, looking each of the three first-years in the eye in turn before going on. “The three of yeh need ter stay out of this,” he warned. “It’s dangerous. You forget that god, an’ you forget what it’s guarding – that’s between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicolas Flamel, yeh hear?” 

The trio exchanged another look. So, there was some called Nicolas Flamel involved, was there? Well that was something they hadn’t known before.

Hagrid seemed to have realized that he’d said too much because he clapped an enormous hand to his forehead with enough force to topple a carthorse. All the while muttering to himself, “I should not have said that…I should not have said that….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/14/2018: I forgot to mention, but I'm probably not going to post anything this month. I'm always pretty busy around this time of year. So I'll see you all in the new year. Happy Holidays!


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